Angel Wings
by alb925
Summary: Sophie McConnell wants to start over and forget her past. Putting enough distance between herself and her old life seems like the perfect solution. But even miles away from home, Sophie can't shake the feeling that her past is following her, bringing with it ancient family secrets that even she didn't know about. Will the past destroy her or can Sophie find the courage to face it?
1. Chapter 1

**_Salem, Massachusetts. October, 1693_**

The baby lying in the frantic woman's arms was wailing. Still. Ten minutes after they had entered the woods. The woman didn't know if it was due to hunger, exhaustion or fear. Or perhaps all three. In any case, the woman was too afraid to stop moving. Too afraid of getting caught. But she also feared that the loud noise coming from her nine month old son would draw people to them anyway. If someone were following them, the baby's cries would keep any pursuers hot on their trail.

Realistically, it would take some time for anyone to start chasing them. She knew that. But people would begin searching eventually and she wanted to be far, far away by that time.

She knew that someone would piece some things together soon enough. When they discovered the ruined house, the dead body and the missing child, there would obviously be questions and a search for the missing child. They'd eventually realize who else was missing from town: a pale, skinny, recently widowed woman with a nine month old baby. They would look for her. And they'd look for the child. Not the baby. The other one. The one that they would have discovered missing. Dorothy was her name. She was a scrawny, small five year old with messy, shoulder length brown hair and large, haunting dark brown eyes. And she did not belong to the woman who was currently holding her hand and pulling her through the woods.

But the woman had promised Dorothy's mother she'd take care of her. She had _promised_. And if they had stayed in town, nothing good would have come of it. Dorothy could have been taken away. Who knew what they would have done with her. They could have accused her of causing the accident and put her back in jail. She had already spent nine months in that horrid place for an act she did not commit and it had done enough damage to the poor thing. It had even ultimately led to the mess they had left behind. Yes, Dorothy had technically been the culprit, but she was not at _fault_ for what was happening to her. Whatever she was doing, she couldn't control it. That much was obvious.

Panting slightly at this point, the woman continued to plow through the woods as fast as she could with a baby in her arms and another child in tow. Sweaty tendrils of her light brown hair fell in front of her face and she blew puffs of air from her mouth to push them away. Her son was still whimpering a bit in her grasp, but at least it was quieter now. She did not know where she was going or when she would stop, but she figured it would be when she had put enough distance between her and Salem to no longer feel afraid. Enough distance for her to feel safe. Or, she thought wryly, until she dropped dead from hunger and fatigue. But she was going to escape, even if she died trying. She was going to fulfill her promise to Dorothy's mother and keep her safe if it was the last thing she did. She owed poor Sarah that much.

She quickly glanced down at the young child walking beside her. She couldn't believe how quiet and obedient Dorothy was being. She walked at a quick pace and stared silently ahead. She was a smart child. There was no doubt that she knew what was at risk, even though there was also no doubt that she was afraid.

Fear did terrible things to people. It changed them. In fact, it was what had started this whole mess. It had changed the people of Salem the year before. So much so that they were accusing _good people_ of crimes they did not commit. People had _died_ because of it. Fear had been the reason she, Dorothy, and so many people had gone to jail. Fear was the reason nineteen innocent people had been executed. It was the reason the woman was now a widow and Dorothy was now motherless. It was the reason that Dorothy was so different now and doing things she could not control.

It made the woman angry. It made her stomach churn. She had always been proud of who she was. She was not a bad person. She used her abilities to _help_ people. That was what people like her were supposed to use them for. Not that all of them _did._ Not that people like her were all kind and good. Certainly not. But most _were_ good. But people were so _afraid_ and misinformed that they acted irrationally and too many innocent lives had been taken. And now the ordeal had changed the survivors. She herself had noticed that her once ever present confidence had wavered. She felt dirty. She felt tainted. She felt as if she should be ashamed.

She frowned in anger and annoyance as she picked up her pace, her anger showing in her forceful, quick steps. It was not fair! A five year old child should not have to be so fearful to be herself that she turned inward and destroyed things. A grown woman with an infant son should not be ashamed of who she was—because that meant being ashamed of who her son was. Considering he was like her and her husband, of course. Her now deceased husband.

The woman inhaled through her nose and set her jaw as she stood up straighter and tried to blink back tears. She was not going to let the fearful people she was leaving behind take her confidence. She was not going to allow her husband and the other eighteen victims to have died in vain. She was not going to be _afraid_ of her own self. Instead, she was going to be proud.

Her name was Elizabeth Ann Proctor and she was a witch. She had magic running through her veins and the power to do all of the bad things she had been accused of. But she hadn't and never would, despite the many times over the past eighteen months that the thought of revenge had tempted her.

Perhaps, she thought, running away was a good thing. It was a chance to start over somewhere else. A chance to be themselves without having to be afraid. A place where they would finally be safe.

She did not know if such a place existed, but she certainly hoped so.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi! I've had the idea for this story in my head for a little bit now, but I've just been trying to finish planning it all out before I start uploading. I've done a story on the Salem witch trials before, but I got inspired to write another one and I also feel as if I've improved so much as a writer since then and could do it justice.**

 **Obviously some parts of this story are going to be fictional for the sake of moving the story along, but I'm going to try to weave in as many accurate facts as possible. For starters, Elizabeth Proctor was a real person who did in fact survive the Salem witch trials. Dorothy Good is also a real person and was the youngest person in Salem to be accused of witchcraft. I found her story (and the stories of the other victims as well) to be so sad that it kind of inspired this story. I'm a little nervous about it, so I hope everyone enjoys the first chapter and I can't wait to continue writing the rest of it! Thanks for reading and don't forget to let me know what you think so far.**


	2. Chapter 2

_London, May 1999_

Friday nights at the Leaky Cauldron were always the busiest. Every table was usually full, and so was the bar. Most of the employees loved it. They loved seeing the familiar faces of the regulars and they loved seeing familiar faces that perhaps hadn't been in a while. Tom and Martha had owned and run the pub for years and they knew even more people than the wait staff. The two of them never complained about how busy the place got—in fact they loved it. The people were the best part of the job, they always said.

I, on the other hand, was content to not make conversation with any of the customers. I'd started working at the pub about a month ago-in mid-April-and had been assigned the job of bussing tables, which was much more preferable in my opinion. Tom had said we'd see how things went and perhaps one day I could be a waitress, but part of me hoped that day never came. It wasn't necessarily taking food and drink orders that was hard—it was the fact that people liked to make conversation. And the drunker they got, the friendlier they got. But I was a pretty private person. I don't mind hearing other people's stories, but sharing my own, well, I'd rather not.

On this particular Friday night, I was on a roll. I had just cleared off and cleaned a newly deserted table in record time, preparing it for another guest to immediately sit down. Sighing in exhaustion, I made my way back towards the kitchen, the bin of dirty dishes and utensils floating along in front of me.

"Tired already, Mouse?" Kyle, the assistant chef, asked as I dumped the dishes in the sink, blowing a puff of air out of my mouth as I did so. "It's only nine thirty. We still have three more hours to go!" He exuberantly shook the frying pan in his hand, sending the contents jolting around, some even up into the air, before catching them again and setting the pan back on the stove.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head at the nickname Kyle had christened me with. Mouse. On account of me being as quiet as one. I wasn't even sure if I liked the nickname yet. I liked having something that made me feel like I fit in, but it wasn't like I hadn't heard every joke in the book about being quiet and reserved.

"Just when I thought my shift was going by fast," I sighed, turning around.

"Well, it's about to go by even faster, dear," Martha said, bustling into the room.

"Where've you been?" Kyle asked. "You disappeared twenty minutes ago."

"Rachel's going home sick," Martha announced, rummaging in the storage cabinet in the corner before emerging with an apron. "She started vomiting out back by the dumpsters."

"Yikes," Kyle winced. "But better there than on a customer. Or back here in the kitchen."

"I'm going to need you to fill in for her, Sophie dear," Martha said. She turned to me and pressed the apron into my hands before handing me Rachel's notepad. "She's been working section three. That's the one in the front right corner. The corner booth to the door and back five table rows. That's the area you're in charge of."

I stared at her, mouth agape as I started to panic. "But—but—I've never—who'll clean the tables afterwards? Who'll take my spot cleaning them?" It was a last ditch effort to find an excuse to get out of my current situation.

"Noah can handle it," Martha said quickly, referring to the other busboy on duty. She had already busied herself beside Kyle, preparing the next meal that had to be done. "You'll be fine. Just do your best."

"But Tom—"

"He'll have to keep his mouth shut. We're short staffed and it's packed out there! We need help. Besides, this is a good opportunity to prove you can do it!"

"But I don't know if I can!" I argued, albeit a bit shamefully. I hated trying to get out of helping Tom and Martha. Especially after all they had done for me. Martha had been totally willing to welcome me in with open arms and disappointing her was particularly unbearable. On the other hand, Tom was a little tougher where I was concerned and this was a good opportunity to earn some bonus points with him, so Martha did have a point.

"You can," Martha said firmly, glancing over at me.

"But Soph does have a point, Martha," Kyle said. "We don't call her Mouse for nothing." His lip twitched into a smirk as he looked at me. I blushed a deep crimson color as my stomach churned even more.

Martha looked over at me again. "I know you're quiet, Sophie, and I know you aren't much for chit chat, but you're going to have to pull through for tonight. We need the help. Besides, you know the deal. We take you in, you work and earn your keep. And that means being able to take on any job you're assigned here, not just the ones that make you comfortable."

I flushed even more and looked away as I nodded. She was right. Swallowing thickly, I slid the apron on and tied it behind me before picking up the notepad again.

"Good girl," Martha beamed, turning back to her work. "Just remember, be your usual sweet, kind self, but…do speak up a bit. It's hard to hear out there as it is what with all the people."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, trying to calm my queasy stomach. Maybe I had caught whatever stomach virus Rachel had. _Wishful thinking_ , I thought to myself. _All I have is a bad case of shy and reserved_.

But as I made my way back towards Rachel's section, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I wonder what Tom and Martha would say if I took people's orders by sitting on the floor.

Swallowing, I stopped at Rachel's first table, the table in front of the window. "Hi, my name is Sophie and I'll be filling in for the remainder of Rachel's shift tonight. Is there anything else I can get for you?" I asked, noticing the couple seemed to already have their food in front of them. I could only hope that they just couldn't tell how red my cheeks were.

The man, who was balding and had a droopy mustache let out a sigh. "I ordered this sandwich with no cheese." He picked up his plate and held it out towards me. "We got our food twenty minutes ago and I've been waiting for our waitress to come back so I could tell her." He shoved the plate even more in my direction. "Please take it back. And make sure you tell them to make an entirely new sandwich seeing as this one is now also cold. I ordered it toasted, which means I wanted it _warm_."

I felt my face heat up even more. "I'm—I'm sorry, I'll bring you another," I said hastily, my voice quiet as I took the plate from him and began hurrying towards the kitchen.

"Hey, waitress, could you bring us extra napkins?" the woman a few tables down called out as I passed.

"Mhm," I squeaked out, still breezing towards the kitchens.

"Here's the bill, we're all set," an older woman from the next table said, thrusting some money into my hand.

"Erm, thank you!" I replied, trying not to drop the coins in my right hand as I balanced the plate in my left.

"Oi, where are those drinks we ordered?" one member of the large group of mid-twenty year old boys in the corner booth shouted. "We've been waiting for ages!"

I turned and glanced at him, but didn't respond in my hurry to get back to the kitchen. A second later, I mentally kicked myself for not answering as one of the boys muttered about the horrible service. Answering him and telling him the drinks would be out shortly was the right thing to do anyway, but I was already feeling overwhelmed. And I wasn't looking forward to waiting on that table. Those boys were already drunk from the looks of things.

Just as I was turning away from glancing over my shoulder, I stopped short and had to fight not to drop everything in my hands as I almost ran smack into someone weaving through tables to get to, I assumed, the bar.

I gasped and mumbled a quick apology, grimacing as the other person stepped on my foot in the confusion, practically snapping my toes off in the process.

"Oh no, sorry!" the person said.

I looked up, unable to get by him since he had stopped in front of me. He looked about my age and had flaming red hair, bright blue eyes, and freckle covered skin.

I only glanced at him quickly before looking down at the objects in my hands, still trying to keep them steady. And I didn't reply to his apology either. I just wanted to get back in the kitchen and breathe for a second and get myself organized before I forgot everything that had already been asked of me.

"First day?" the boy asked. I glanced up again to see him cocking his head to one side in amusement. Great, he was laughing at me. I must look like such an idiot.

His guess was close enough, though. It wasn't my first day working here, but it _was_ my first day as a waitress. I didn't bother to answer him, though. Instead, I continued to shuffle to the side in an attempt to get back to the kitchen. If I didn't get the balding man's new sandwich to him soon, I was sure he'd explode. Just that thought alone made me nervous and that wasn't counting the thought of all the other tables I had to get to.

"I've never seen you here before," the boy went on. "My brother and I come every week." He didn't seem to notice that I was in a hurry. Either that or he didn't care.

I gave him a weak, polite smile and shifted completely around him.

"Hey, wait a second," the boy said, reaching out for my arm, but now that my path was cleared, I darted out of his reach and managed to finally reach the kitchen, where I deposited the sandwich on the counter. I half-smiled at Kyle. "Man at table thirty-one didn't want cheese on this. And now since it's cold, he wants a whole new one. Sorry."

Kyle gave me a sympathetic look. "Don't mention it. I mean, it's a pain, but it happens all the time. We get busy, and sometimes our brains stop working for a bit." He took the plate, grabbed the sandwich off of it and took a bite. Then he set it off to the side as he started making a new one for the man at table thirty-one. "How's it going out there?"

"Awful," I said. "I don't know what I'm doing, and about five different people shouted things at me on my way back. I'm going to screw something up. I can feel it. I can barely even remember what they asked." I shook my head as I started to put away the money that had been thrusted into my hand.

"Come on, Mouse," Kyle said. "It's your first day waitressing. And you were flung into it with no notice. Plus, we're packed. It's not the perfect chance to ease you into the job. Tom and Martha will understand if you mess up a little bit. Cut yourself some slack. And, I mean, once you loosen up, get comfortable with people and start _talking_ , you're pretty fun to be around. So it's only a matter of time before you'll be chatting up those customers like it's nothing."

"I don't even talk to you like it's nothing," I protested. "Or so you say."

"True," Kyle said. "You could still do with some opening up about yourself. And you are definitely still more quiet than talkative. But at least you _talk_ to me now. Your first few days here, I don't think you spoke a word to anyone, except Tom and Martha and even then, the words you gave them probably reached a grand total of five."

I glared at him as I finished putting away the money and he laughed. "It's so busy out there," I sighed, leaning backwards against the counter and massaging my neck with my hands. "It's—overwhelming."

"That's Friday night for you," Kyle said, sliding the new sandwich back towards me. "You'll get used to it."

I took the sandwich and smiled back before startling. "Oh! I need those drinks for the corner table!"

Kyle scoffed and rolled his eyes. "That rowdy group of kids? In the instances they get loud enough, I can hear them all the way back here. They come in here every week, around dinnertime. Stay for hours. Eat, drink, get rowdy. Obnoxious. The whole lot of 'em. They're probably already wasted now and it's only just before ten."

I groaned. "I hope they're nice drunks, but I didn't get that sense from being out there."

Kyle scoffed again. "Want me to spit in the drinks?"

I let out a laugh as I rushed to get their drinks together, looking back at Rachel's notepad for reference. "Funny."

"I'm serious," Kyle answered, slicing another sandwich in half and arranging it on a plate.

"You mess with their drinks, I'll be the one that gets alcohol splashed all over me!"

"Come on, they won't taste any difference. That's the point. A way to get revenge without anyone noticing."

"A trick I hope you don't use often, I hope?" I asked, peering back over at the tall, dark haired cook with a smile. I liked Kyle. He had been one of the people here that I had warmed up to the quickest, although he'd disagree. I was usually terribly shy and reserved around new people, hardly talking at all mostly and preferring to stay to myself. He had been right when he said I had hardly spoken a word to anyone when I first arrived. Surely Tom and Martha had suspected I was a mute. It just took a while to get comfortable with people. But Kyle had surprised me. He had gotten me out of my shell quicker than most people and I felt comfortable at least joking with him. He still complained that he thought I didn't talk enough, but I always argued that he did enough talking for the whole pub anyway.

"Nope, I just use it on people I don't like," he responded now as I loaded up a tray with the drinks. I grabbed the newly constructed sandwich with my other hand and slowly made my way towards the door.

"You got all that?" Kyle asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I think so," I said with a hopeful smile, pushing the door open with my back and heading back the way I had come earlier. I didn't want to waste any more time going back and forth to make multiple trips, so I figured I'd better try bringing it all out. Couldn't have the customers complaining to Tom and Martha. Although, I expected I'd already earned a few complaints at this point.

I headed for the mustached man's table to drop off the sandwich first. That way, I'd free up both hands to pass out all the drinks to the table in the corner. I wasn't looking to drop anything by any means.

"Finally," the man huffed when I set the plate in front of him.

"Anything else?" I asked, trying to ignore his comment and his tone.

"No, we're fine, thank you," he said quickly.

I turned and let out a puff of air, but barely had time to take in another breath. I had the woman from before shout at me for extra napkins again and I quickly hurried off to take care of it. But only after I'd hastily delivered the drinks in my hand without making eye contact with any of the boys at that table.

I fumbled my way through the rest of the evening without ever feeling calmer or relaxed about my situation. I think I was actually perpetually shaking the entire night. There was just so much to be done. I never made any drastic mistakes—like setting the building on fire, for example—but I just felt like I things weren't going as smoothly as they would if Rachel had been working instead. Most customers were nice, but like I said, a lot of them like to chat and I'm not usually one for doing that, so I'd leave the table in a hurry, using how busy we were as an excuse. The good thing that the excuse was true. We were busy and I did have to hurry. The use of this excuse happened quite a bit, actually, because most people noticed the second I opened my mouth that I wasn't from England. And they wanted to know why. You know, what had brought me here and all that. Understandably, I suppose. But I didn't want to go into it. Couldn't, really.

Anyway, besides hurriedly leaving the tables of the curious customers, I messed up a few other things as well. For instance, I completely forgot to bring extra tomatoes for one man's sandwich and a few times I placed the wrong meal in front of a person. But at least I always got the tables correct. I just mixed up the people at the tables.

The night was full of little errors like that and while I wasn't exactly pleased with how it had gone, it hadn't been a total horror show either and I couldn't help but be thankful.

But apparently, I gave thanks too soon.

By twelve fifteen in the morning, fifteen minutes before closing time, there were only seven customers total in the place, including the group of five guys at my corner table, who were all now even drunker and rowdier than they had been when I took over Rachel's spot at ten

The redhead boy I had bumped into earlier was still here, too, with someone that was obviously his twin. They were totally identical. I wasn't even sure if I could tell which one was the one I had spoken to earlier.

"So, you survived," Kyle said from behind me as he dried off one of the last remaining bowls left in the drying rack beside the sink. The kitchen always closed and stopped serving food at midnight and we took the last half hour to clean up. Then, at twelve-thirty, we'd clean up the dining area, then shut off the lights and go home. But for me, Tom, and Martha, home was only up a few flights of stairs to the very top floor of the pub in an extremely homey flat. The two floors below that were for guests. And the bottom floor was the pub.

"I survived," I sighed, leaning against the doorframe and closing my eyes for a second as I brushed some stray wisps of light brown hair out of my face. My ponytail had started falling out hours ago and I hadn't even gotten the chance to fix it. I had food stains on my apron, I was incredibly sweaty, and my feet hurt. But the night wasn't over yet.

I opened my eyes and surveyed the room. My eyes fell on the rowdy boys as they all let out loud laughs at once. The sound pierced right through my already aching head and I closed my eyes again. "I'm sadly not finished for the night, though," I told Kyle.

"Fifteen minutes more and they'll be gone," Kyle said, joining me at the door and looking around the room as well. Together, we watched Tom at the bar, wiping down glasses and chatting up a storm with the redheaded twins. As I watched, one of them looked up at me and gave a half smile. I looked away in haste and stared down at my worn sneakers instead.

"One of the Weasley boys just asked Tom about you," Kyle said, his smirk evident in his tone.

"How can you tell?" I asked, looking up at him.

"He looked over at you and when you looked away, he said something to Tom, glancing over here as he did, then Tom looked over and answered him."

"They could be talking about you," I said. "Maybe that guy wants meet the person who cooked his meal."

"Martha cooked his food," Kyle responded. "Besides, we've all met him already. Except you."

"I have met him," I answered. "He stepped on my foot."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "And I bet you didn't say a word to him, not even something along the lines of ' _ouch, my foot!'"_

I blushed and looked away. "Shut up, Kyle."

"Come on, Mouse, you've been here a month. It couldn't hurt to make some friends. In fact, it's worrisome the way you live your life. You're turning twenty-one next month. All you do is work and go home. And _home_ happens to be up the stairs! You don't even leave the building."

" _You're_ my friend," I said.

Kyle sighed heavily. "I'm twelve years older than you."

"So?"

"I'm married and have my own family."

" _So_?" I pressed. "That means we can't be friends?"

"I think you should make friends your own age. Whenever some of the girls here get together and go out, you make up an excuse and stay in."

"I don't like talking about myself," I said. "You've been the only one who hasn't pressed the subject."

"How do you know anyone else won't either?"

"I can't possibly get that lucky more than once. Plus if I refuse to talk about myself to _every single person_ who asks, I look…."

"Crazy?" Kyle supplied.

I shrugged.

" _Are_ you crazy?"

"No!" I exclaimed defensively.

"I was just asking," Kyle said, holding up his hands in surrender. He glanced over my shoulder at the group of guys in the corner booth. "Better go check on them. The sooner they pay the bill, the sooner they'll leave."

I sighed as I turned back towards the table. "They've been calling me States all night." When Kyle looked at me in confusion, I raised an eyebrow. "As in the United States. Where I'm from."

"Ah, see, I always seem to forget you're not one of us," Kyle said.

"Because I blend right in?" I asked.

"Nah, because you've got me trained to not even _think_ about your backstory. As far as I'm concerned you just materialized out of thin air, or dropped from the sky."

I rolled my eyes.

"Go ahead, get on over there," Kyle said, giving me a gentle nudge. But then he leaned forward to whisper in my ear. "But for the record, States is a horrible nickname. Mouse is much more fitting."

"In _your_ mind," I scoffed. Kyle laughed and retreated back to the kitchen as I made my way over to the corner table. "Need anything else?" I asked, nervously pushing a tendril of loose hair behind my ear. "Or just the bill?"

"What about you?" one of the boys asked. "Can I get you? I _have_ always had a thing for blue-eyed girls."

"You have a thing for Americans, too?" one of his friends asked with a laugh.

"Not sure, but I can find out," the first guy said.

I felt myself flush as I looked anywhere but at their faces. This was humiliating. "Do you need anything else?" I asked again.

"Another round of firewhiskey," the guy who had first spoken to me said.

 _Seriously?_ I thought to myself.

"Um, we are closing in ten minutes, just so you're aware," I said.

"You asked us if we needed anything else, didn't you sweetheart?" one of them asked. "And since Marcus can't have _you_ , we'll have to just take another round of drinks."

"Unless you've changed your mind," the guy who was apparently named Marcus said, wiggling an eyebrow at me.

I fought the urge to gag. "Your drinks will be right out," I said almost robotically as I turned and walked away towards the bar.

"Aw, you're no fun!" Marcus yelled out.

"Yeah, American girls are _boring_ ," one of his friends commented.

I inhaled deeply through my nose and ignored the comments as I headed for the bar, where those two redheaded twins still sat. I could tell they were watching me, no matter how much I wish I hadn't noticed. The last thing I wanted was to have people witness me being made a fool of.

"They all want firewhiskey," I told Tom once I got to the bar.

"We're closing in ten," he said with a frown.

"I told them that. They don't care," I answered.

Tom sighed and set down the glass he was drying before busying himself getting the drinks.

"They're jerks," the twin sitting closest to me said, taking a sip from his own firewhiskey as he looked over the top of it at me. "They were in my and George's year at school. Slytherins." He looked over at the table again. "Honestly, Marcus Flint is the biggest _caveman_. And his friends aren't much better. Montague, Warrington….they're awful." He turned back to me. "Keep doing what you're doing. Ignore them. The best you can anyway since you _do_ unfortunately have to serve them drinks."

I gave him another quick, polite smile before turning back to the bar, staring at all the different types of alcohol lining the back wall. I drummed my fingers on the table impatiently.

"I'm Fred," the redhead guy piped up after a second. "Fred Weasley." I looked back over to see he was extending a hand for me to shake. "I believe we had the pleasure of running into each other earlier. Quite literally, actually." He smiled.

I hesitated as I looked down at his outstretched hand.

"It's customary to shake it," he said. "It's a form of greeting. Do you not have handshakes in America?"

"You're making fun of me," I said, narrowing my eyes.

"Not this time," Fred said with a smile.

"Excuse me?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. What did he mean, _not this time_?

"You see, joking around is kind of what we do," Fred's twin said suddenly. "We own the joke shop down at the end of the alley. Diagon Alley, I mean. You've probably seen the shop. Can't miss it."

I shook my head. "Never been," I shrugged. Truthfully, I wasn't in the alley all that much. Hardly ever, actually. I'd probably been once or twice in the month I'd been staying with Tom and Martha. And I had never been down at the end furthest from the pub. Never needed anything from the shops down there considering I usually only went out on errands for Tom and Martha or when I went to pick up some basic necessities for myself with my earnings from work.

The twins' mouths fell open simultaneously. "Never been?" Fred asked.

"Ever?" his twin continued.

"Are you ill?" they asked together.

I shook my head.

"Then you're crazy," Fred said.

"No," I insisted, shifting my weight between my feet. I wished Tom would hurry with those drinks.

It was quiet for another few seconds. "I'm George, by the way," the other twin said. "And you don't seem to be a woman of many words."

I shook my head in response (for the second time in the span of a minute, too), and didn't look at him.

"She's said a total of ten words to us, George," Fred hissed to his brother. "Ten. And she doesn't know what a handshake is. Either we're losing our charm or she doesn't talk much."

I ignored them. Quite frankly, they made me uncomfortable. They were friendly, but clearly very chatty. And the constant jokes—well, I had no idea what to make of that either. It made me think they were clearly going to have too much fun with my shyness and I hated when people did that.

Finally, Tom returned with the drinks on a tray and I picked it up, balancing it carefully as I walked back towards the corner table. I saw one of them—Marcus—glance at me as I approached before returning to muttering something to his friend across the table from him.

As I passed the left side of the table, trying to reach the middle in order to put the drinks down, I felt my foot connect with something else. I wobbled and then felt myself catapult forward. I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut as my stomach clenched and my heart stopped. It was impossible to catch myself with my hands full and I had already lost my balance anyway. I was definitely going to hit the ground and it wasn't going to be pretty.

The crash was louder than I anticipated and I winced as my left elbow and both knees crashed into the ground. The drinks smashed everywhere and flooded the grey stone floor. And everyone in the room had gone totally silent.

When I opened my eyes, the situation was as bad as I had feared. My face was red as a tomato and so hot, I could probably fry an egg on it. Plus, everyone was staring at me, which made it worse. The group of boys suddenly began to laugh, hiding their faces in their arms or behind the nearly empty bottles and glasses of their last round of drinks.

"Now _that's_ one way to liven things up!" one of them hooted.

I could have died on the spot. Honestly.

"Oi!"

I winced, sure it was someone coming to yell at me for making such a mess, but it wasn't. I looked up to see the twins standing above me. Fred was glaring at the group of boys in the booth while George glanced at me before kneeling down and starting to collect up some of the larger shards of glass from the drinks. I grabbed the tray I had been carrying them on and set it between us as I hurriedly began to help without making eye contact with anyone. Above me, I heard Fred start talking again.

"I saw what you did," he said. "You tripped her. On purpose. And I don't know what any of you think you're playing at. It wasn't funny. You could have seriously hurt someone who's just trying to do her job, which unfortunately happens to be catering to you prats."

"She's not even very good," one of the boys muttered. "We've been waiting forever for drinks. All night. _And_ she's boring. The other waitresses at least talk to us."

I swallowed as I continued to pick up glass from the floor. I was getting soaked from the giant puddle of liquid surrounding me and I also noticed that George was kneeling in it too. It was impossible to _not_ kneel in it, really. It was a big puddle.

"Did you see how busy it was in here all night?" Fred asked. "Besides, she's clearly new at this! It'd do you better to get some respect and patience instead of getting drunk."

I watched in horror as Marcus got up from his seat and glared at Fred, who raised his eyebrows and crossed his own arms.

" _Really_?" Marcus asked menacingly. I had now stopped what I was doing completely and was gaping up at the scene, frozen.

"Yeah," Fred said, narrowing his eyes and stepping closer.

"We've got you outnumbered."

"George and I can take you."

George, as if on cue, stood up beside Fred and glared at the boys as well.

"You sure about that?" One of the dark haired boys sneered as he cracked his knuckles.

"Yeah, in fact we—"

"Alright, enough!"

I turned to see Tom, standing behind us, a deep frown on his face.

"These two are threatening us, sir," one of the dark haired boys said, pointing a finger at the twins.

Fred snorted. "Hardly." He turned to Tom and jerked his head towards the boy who was sitting across from Marcus. "This one tripped your waitress. On purpose."

"Did no such thing, sir," the dark haired boy said, shaking his head vigorously at Tom.

"You did," George said. "We both saw you. And you've been bothering her all night."

"She could've just tripped over her own feet, you know," the boy said with a roll of his eyes. "Wouldn't surprise me."

"Alright, alright," Tom said, his frown getting deeper. He looked the group of boys up and down. "If you're finished, why don't you wrap it up?"

"We're not finished, we never got the next round of drinks we asked for!" one of the other boys exclaimed. He pointed a finger at me, still on the floor. "She spilled them everywhere! We should get a free round for the inconvenience!"

"I can give you a free round of something, alright," Fred said, glaring at them.

"Hey, cool it," Tom snapped, turning his glare towards Fred. He looked back towards the boys. "Actually it's closing time now. You can come back for your drinks another time. So, if you'd please, as I've said, wrap it up."

"But—"

"Do I need to alert the authorities?"

There was a silence before the group of boys finally started piling out of the booth, albeit with a lot of grumbling, and heading towards the door. Marcus was the last one to leave. He grabbed a half filled drink from the table and looked down at me. "Thanks for nothing," he said. And then he tossed the contents of the glass in my face.

" _Oi!"_ Both twins lunged for Marcus, but Tom grabbed both of their arms and tugged them back.

"Contain yourselves, boys!" he shouted.

"What the hell?" Fred cried. "Did you see what he did?"

"I saw," Tom growled. "But fighting is not allowed in this pub!" He turned towards Marcus. "I also don't allow the blatant disrespect of _anyone_ in this building, staff or not. If you're that unsatisfied with your service, you take it up with me or Martha. Using _words._ Now get out."

Marcus rolled his eyes, but turned for the door. He let it slam on his way out, leaving a silent pub in his wake.

Tom looked down and took in the sight of me. My clothes, face and hair were splashed with alcohol, my hair was falling out of my ponytail even more than before, and I was sure I looked shell-shocked and embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Tom's expression softened as he sighed. "I know. But it wasn't your fault. Just…get this all cleaned up, please." He paused. "Are you alright?"

I nodded. "Fine. I'll get this cleaned right away."

Tom gave me a tiny smile and a nod. "Thank you. I've cleaned up the bar and Kyle's closed up the kitchen, so once this is cleaned and the boys here have gone, you can lock up the front door and turn in for the night, yeah?"

I nodded and let out a sigh as he walked away. At least I wasn't in trouble.

"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Fred. When I nodded, he smiled and held out his hand. "I'm offering it to you to help you up this time," he clarified. "In case you—"

"I get it." I said with a tiny smile. I glanced down at his hand before taking it and allowing him to help me to my feet. I tried to slip my hand from his grasp once I was up, but he only held on tighter as he smiled wider at me. "Will you tell us your name now?" he asked. "You know ours."

I cleared my throat and kept my eyes on our hands. "Sophie," I answered. "It's Sophie."

"Pleasure to meet you," Fred said, gently shaking my hand before finally dropping it.

He and George fell quiet as they scrutinized me and I felt myself looking at the ground awkwardly, unsure of what to do with myself.

"You're shy," Fred commented, smiling at me again.

I still didn't answer. I didn't know what to say to that. Never had. I didn't need or particularly want people pointing that out. I just wanted to do my job, save up some money and get my bearings. For starters. And after that, I'd have to start figuring out the rest of my life. Nothing major at all.

The twins continued to stare at me, raising their eyebrows before looking at each other. "Definitely shy," Fred said.

"Look, I really should be getting back to work," I said. "I have to clean this up and then—"

"Allow me," Fred said, waving his wand to clear the spilled drinks from the floor as well as, I figured, any leftover shards of glass. Meanwhile, George knelt down to pick up the tray that still sat on the ground before handing it to me.

"Thank you," I said, taking it. I cleared my throat again and looked at them. "And thank you for sticking up for me to those guys. You didn't have to do that."

"Don't mention it," George said kindly as Fred nodded beside him.

"Like I said, they're jerks," Fred said. "And there's no excuse for treating another human being like the way they treated you."

I didn't say anything. Instead, I tilted my head towards the door. "Okay, well, I have to lock up, so..."

"I'd offer to make sure you got home safe, but Tom tells us you live here with him and Martha," Fred said.

I blinked up at him. So Kyle had been right—they had been asking Tom about me. Figures. Everyone wanted to know all about the new girl. And I just wanted them to mind their own business, to be frank. The less anyone knew about me the better.

"When did you talk to Tom about me?" I asked, deciding to play dumb.

"Not too long ago. We just wanted to know who the new girl was."

I cleared my throat and looked away. "And what'd he tell you?"

"Just that he and Martha had taken you in about a month ago—which was surprising."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

"It's just that we'd never seen you before and usually George and I notice pretty girls right away, no matter how much they try to hide."

I blushed a deep red and I looked away.

"Anyway, Tom said that in exchange, you're working here. Didn't give any more details, but we'd love to hear them sometime," Fred said with a grin. "Maybe next Friday?"

I shook my head. "I'm working."

"When you get off," Fred persisted.

"I get off at twelve thirty in the morning."

"We don't mind," Fred went on.

I set my jaw and shook my head. "I have to lock up, so…." I walked to the front door and opened it, giving them a blatantly obvious cue to leave.

The twins looked at each other before Fred let out a low whistle. "Fine," he said, holding up his hands. "We know a rejection when we see one. Come on, George."

And with that, they started walking towards the side door.

"Thanks for holding the door for us," Fred said over his shoulder, "but we're going this way. We live about our shop, you see."

I flushed red as I shut the front door and locked it before turning to watch the twins leave through the side door. Fred turned and stuck his head back in, a smile on his face.

"It was nice to meet you, Sophie. I'm sure I'll see you around. We're practically neighbors after all."

And with that, he shut the door to the pub with a click.


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel was out of work sick for three additional days and I found myself filling in for her each of those days. I had thought I'd be safe from having to waitress again after the embarrassing events of Friday night, but Tom and Martha seemed to think I could handle myself the rest of the time Rachel was out, much to my disappointment.

"It was them, not you," Martha told me gently after I had reminded her about the spilled drinks incident. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't allow those boys in here. They're rowdy and disruptive. Always have been. But since we can't simply refuse customers, it seems as if we're stuck. Besides, the more you do this, the more confident you'll become." And with that she had handed me my apron with a smile and bustled away.

I had to admit that the next three days I filled in as waitress went a lot more smoothly than Friday night. Saturday night was just as busy and I did make a few mistakes, but none as bad as tripping and falling on my face. Sunday was slow, as always, and Monday was busy around lunch hour, but other than that, a relatively easy day.

"So, you've heard from Rachel? She's definitely coming back tomorrow?" I asked Martha at the end of the day as I threw my apron in the laundry basket in the back corner of the kitchen. I knelt down and picked up the basket, balancing it on my hip. It was full and we were running low on aprons, so when that happened, we usually took the dirty ones up to the flat to be washed.

Martha looked at me with a fond smile as she sighed. "Yes, she'll be back tomorrow and you can go back to cleaning tables. Although...most people would _want_ to be a waitress. Does it really make you that uncomfortable?"

I nodded as I headed across the kitchen to the back, private staircase that lead upstairs. There was a public one out front that led up to the guest floors, but the one in the kitchen was strictly for emplyees and led directly to Tom and Martha's flat on the top floor. It was quite useful really. "I'm just a very private person. And not very...talkative."

"You? Really?" Martha snorted, following behind me.

I smiled wryly as I began climbing the stairs, the laundry basket digging into my hip.

"You've done well, though!" Martha assured me. "All things considered. You're making less errors than before-and the errors you were making weren't huge. You're a lot better than you give yourself credit for."

I shrugged, but didn't answer. When we reached the top of the stairs, I stood to the side while Martha unlocked the door and pushed it open, allowing me to go first with the laundry basket. I brought it to the kitchen and set it down next to the table. "I can wash these now so that they'll be ready for tomorrow," I said.

"Nonsense," Martha said. "It's late. You've been working all day. I can do them tomorrow at some point when it's slow down in the restaurant."

"But-" I protested, but Martha held up her hand.

"Just because you're working to earn your keep does not mean you have to work _constantly_. Tom and I would be more than happy to give you one day off a week. We've been trying to insist on it since you started, but you seem content to work seven days a week."

"I need the money," I muttered, looking at my shoes as I pushed my hair behind my ears.

"You also need a break," Martha said. "You need to make friends. You're a young girl, you should be going out and doing things-having a life!"

I bit my lip as my chest constricted and my face heated up. I refused to look Martha in the eye. I wasn't sure I needed to go out and _do_ things to have a life. Compared to where I'd come from, having a place to live, being around nice people, and being able to work was having a life. I hadn't had any of that for a while and there were times where I'd feared I wouldn't make it to see another day. And then I really wouldn't have a life. But I was here now and I was grateful. It was another reason, besides my quiet nature, why I was comfortable staying in.

"I'm going to talk to Tom again tomorrow about giving you a day off," Martha went on.

"I'm not sure he-"

"I know he's a little tough, dear," Martha said gently. "And I know he was a bit suspicous of you when you first arrived, but you're growing on him. And at the time, I hated the thought of him using Veritaserum on you, but it did prove that you weren't here with bad intentions. And in the time you've been here, you've been a pleasure, albeit a little quiet." She smiled faintly before it faded. "But from what you told us while you were under the Veritaserum, I can understand why. But it still doesn't mean you should isolate yourself. How else will you learn to trust people again? And wouldn't it be nice to not have to be so...alone?" She looked at me hopefully.

I let out a breath of dry laughter and looked towards the kitchen window, out at the night sky. I could remember the night I came to Tom and Martha clearly. I could remember taking the Veritaserum and spilling things that I really hadn't wanted to spill. But Tom and Martha had promised to keep my secrets and they'd done a really great job, despite Tom's grumbling when I'd first asked. He and Martha were the only two who knew my story and while I'd rather nobod know, I supposed that if two people _had_ to know, I was glad it was Tom and Martha.

"I really do need the money," I finally told Martha, "so I can be out of your hair as soon as possible and back on my feet."

Martha reached out and put a warm hand on my arm. "Personally, I love having you here. You're sweet and a hard worker. You don't need to feel like you have to rush out because you're a burden. You aren't. And I understand wanting to be independent, but if you want my opinion, you need someone to take care of you-and _properly_ for once in your life. You haven't spoken about yourself since the night you first came, but you can't keep _everything_ to yourself forever you know." She paused. "I'd _like_ for you to feel you can open up to me, so if you ever want to talk any more about yourself..." She trailed off. "Or if you find someone else. Make a friend."

I shrugged instead of responding. I didn't know how.

"If you're going to talk, though, it has to be because you're comforable doing so," Martha said. "Don't do it because you feel like you owe anybody. Do it for yourself. When you're ready." When I didn't answer, she tilted her head towards the hallway. "Now go on to bed. I'm going to go check on Tom downstairs and make sure he's closed up okay and then tomorrow I'll do this laundry."

I nodded and met her large, dark brown eyes. "Thanks, Martha. Truly. For everything." And then, without being able to quite stop myself, I stepped forward and hugged her. She seemed surprised at first, but then hugged me back. When I pulled away, there was a soft smile on her face as she patted my cheek.

"Go on, get some rest," she whispered, shooing me towards the hallway. "You must be exhausted."

As if to prove her point, I found myself yawning. I stifled it behind my hand before saying goodnight to Martha and heading down the hallway for a bath and then some long awaited shut eye.

* * *

Martha was true to her word and talked to Tom about giving me some days off as well as some shorter shifts so I wouldn't "work myself to death." Tom had agreed to start with giving me every Sunday off in addition to Tuesday mornings. He surprised me by actually agreeing with Martha about me needing some time off. They also surprised me by informing me of their decision the very morning after Martha and I had talked about it. I hadn't expected them to decide that soon.

"When we came up with an agreement that you work in order to stay here," Tom said at breakfast, "I didn't exactly mean work _constantly."_ He aimlessly scratched the back of his neck and tilted his head, staring as if he couldn't make sense of me in the slightest. I just sat there, unsure of what to say.

"At some point, we'll discuss actual shift changes so you aren't hanging around closing so much," Martha said. "We'll have to get a normal schedule going for you."

"But-"

"Sophie, dear," Martha sighed. "I'm hoping you'll be able to finally make some _friends._ Make plans with Rachel or one of the other girls on the weekend. Promise me you'll try. I worry."

I bit my lip and nodded. "Sure. I'll try."

Martha beamed excitedly. "Glad to hear it."

Once breakfast was over and Tom was leaving the room, he stopped at the door and looked back at me. "By the way, those Weasley boys were asking me about you last Friday," he asked. "I know you're big on not talking about yourself, so I only told them you were staying with Martha and me."

I nodded. "I know. They mentioned that they talked to you. Thank you for not saying anything."

Martha suddenly brightened. "You should go visit their shop on Sunday!" she suggested. "Get to know them! They're very friendly boys. And after what happened last May, maybe you could help-"

"Martha," Tom said with a heavy sigh as Martha stopped talking and looked at him. He gave her a look before turning to me and shrugging a shoulder when he noticed my quizzical expression. "You aren't the only one around here who doesn't like talking about their past." And then he left the room, but I could have sworn that he winked at Martha and that she gave him a knowing smile in return.

Needless to say, I had become quite curious about what Tom meant. Part of me wanted to go pay the shop a visit and when I woke up on Sunday-relatively early, too, still in the habit of going to work-I began to debate whether or not I should go. Even if I did go, I couldn't flat out ask the twins what Tom had meant. Especially not if I wasn't planning on sharing any of my own information with them. Besides, we hardly knew each other. But maybe that had been Tom and Martha's plan all along. It wouldn't surprise me.

While I certainly was curious, I also hated the idea of walking into their shop and having to talk to them. I wasn't used to this whole making friends thing. But on the other hand, I wanted _something_ to do. I was used to being busy all the time and now that I had time off, I didn't know what to do with myself. For as long as I could remember, I'd always been busy whether it be with chores back home, or, after I'd left, trying to figure out where I'd be sleeping for the night or if I'd even be eating. Life had simply made it impossible to have time to myself to do whatever I'd like-even make friends.

After I dressed for the day, I went to the kitchen and made myself something to eat. Then I hung around my bedroom for a bit, trying and failing to occupy myself. A few hours passed, but I was restless. I paced around my room for another thirty minutes, stopping every so often to stare out the window and down the alley. I could just make out the top of a tall, purple building, the only one in the alley that wasn't a drab brown or grey. It had to be the joke shop. Unless it wasn't. Unless the shop was actually the same boring color as the other buildings and _that_ was a joke in itself.

I thought of the two redheaded twins and how they'd almost been too much when I'd met them a week ago. Overwhelming. Nervewracking. Talkative. But then I thought about what Tom had said and I became all too curious again. Was it possible that I could relate to these twins more than I had realized. Did we have something huge in common? There was only one way to find out. Chewing on my lip, I stared at the purple building for a moment more before turning and leaving the room. I trotted down the stairs and out the back door to the alley's entrance before I could convince myself to change my mind.

I almost fainted upon my arrival to the tall, purple and completely wild joke shop. It was by far the most exhuberant shop in the alley. The front windows were filled with displays that were colorful, sparkling, and some even _moving_. It was so overwhelming that I had to fight the urge to turn around and go back home. I didn't know how I was going to be able to take the inside if the outside already had me in shock.

But somehow, I managed to make my way inside the building. A bell jingled merrily as I pushed open the door, but I had to wonder if the sound was lost in the mayhem going on inside the shop. It was filled with people talking and laughing and testing out products. The sounds of whoopee cushions came from my left, while the squeaks of Pygmy puffs (according to a sign on the shelf), came from my right. And those were only the sounds of two products.

I was overcome with the urge to turn and leave again. Why had I even come in the first place? But even as I wondered the question, a voice in the back of my head answered it for me. _Because you want to be normal. You want friends for once_.

Nevertheless, I suddenly felt idiotic. I hadn't the faintest idea how to go about making friends. What did I do when I found the twins in this chaos? What did I say?

 _You could start with hello_ , I told myself.

Shaking my head, I turned and headed back for the door. My hand was reaching out for the knob, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, you decided to visit!" a voice said from behind me.

I gasped and jumped slightly at the sudden touch and the loudness of the voice. I spun around and pressed myself against the door as I looked up at none other than one of the twins.

"Did I scare you?" he asked, tilting his head and peering at me in amusement.

I didn't answer.

"Ah, that's right, you don't talk much," he said, nodding his head slowly.

I flushed a deep red and looked up at him in agitation before turning and trying to leave the shop again.

"Wait, don't go," he said, reaching out to stop me, his movements less sudden this time. He took me by the elbow and pulled me inside. "Let me give you a tour!"

I didn't seem to have much of a choice in the matter. I listened attentively and gazed around in wonder as I was led around the shop. It was hard to take in everything at once. There was just so _much_. So many colors and sounds and wild displays. It was nuts.

"So, what do you think?" the twin asked as we stopped towards the back of the shop.

"I, uh..." I began, clearing my throat. "It's...wow."

"I would say you're rendered speechless, but you were pretty speechless beforehand, so..." the twin said with a smirk.

"Will you _quit_ pointing out how quiet I am?" I demanded, crossing my arms. My voice had sounded unnaturally loud to my own ears and the twin looked surprised.

"See?" he said, recovering quickly. "There _is_ a little spitfire in there somewhere. You've just got her hiding for some reason." When I didn't answer, he smiled wider. "You're Sophie, yes?"

I nodded. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten, considering the last time you saw me, I was on the floor and covered in alcohol."

The twin smiled. "No, I didn't forget. Just like you clearly didn't forget about me or that I owned this shop."

"I did forget which twin you are, though," I admitted, blushing again as I looked down at my feet. "Sorry."

He chuckled. "Don't worry. Happens all the time. Even our own _mother_ forgets sometimes." He paused. "I'm Fred, by the way."

I nodded as I glanced up at him quickly before looking away again.

"So," Fred said, leaning casually against a shelf, "did you come here looking for anything in particular or did you just come to see me? I've heard I'm a pretty irresistable guy."

I raised an eyebrow as I studied him. I took in his bright, magenta work robes and his flaming red hair that the robes clashed terribly with. I took in casual, confident stance and his lopsided smirk. But I also noticed his eyes. To begin with, they were a lovely sapphire blue, but there were also dark circles underneath as if he hadn't slept in a while. And as for his actual eyes, something was...off. It was almost as if his cheerful, loud and confident demeanor didn't reach his eyes. It was sad, really. He had beautiful eyes, but they were dull. I wondered what they'd been like before. Before he'd been through whatever had happened last year-the incident Martha had mentioned.

"I came because I had the day off," I finally answered, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "And I didn't know what else to do."

Fred nodded thoughtfully as he stared back at me. "How long have you been here?" he asked curiously. "In England?"

"Just over a month," I answered.

"And you haven't had a single day off since then, have you?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"You are a strange girl," he said, dragging out the word 'strange' slightly. I didn't answer, something that was becoming a trademark habit of mine, but it didn't seem to deter Fred at all. "Would you like to hang out here for a bit? See our back room? It's where all the magic happens. Literally."

I shrugged one shoulder. "Okay."

"Don't get overexcited," Fred said sarcastically, letting out a snort of amusement as he pushed off the wall and turned towards a doorway a few feet away. He pushed open the door and held it open for me to go through. I glanced up at him as I passed and gave him a timid, awkward smile that surely looked odd compared to his giant one. Merlin, he could be so unnerving.

"I was working on a new batch of Fever Fudge earlier before things got chaotic and I had to step out front for a bit," Fred said, walking over to a wooden worktable, covered with a few cauldrons and lots of papers and vials.

"Fever Fudge?" I asked, staying where I was by the door.

"It's part of our line of sweets that make you ill," Fred answered, peering into the bubbling cauldron and giving it a stir. "We've got Fever Fudge, Fainting Fancies, Puking Pastils and Nosebleed Nougats. If you eat one half of the sweet, it makes you instantly sick. Eat the other half, and it cures you. They're designed for people to get out of class easily." He rummaged around on the table for a bit until he found a vial of purple liquid. He uncorked it before pouring a bit into the cauldron. The potion hissed and a line of steam rose out of it. Fred set the vial down and looked up at me. "Why don't you come sit? I don't bite." He gestured to one of the stools situated around the worktable.

I smiled slightly before heading over to the closest stool and perching on top of it. Fred held the spoon he was stirring with out to me. I looked at it before glancing up at him. "You want _me_ to stir it?" I asked.

Fred nodded eagerly. "Yeah, want to give it a try?"

"I wouldn't want to ruin it."

"Well, see, here's the thing," Fred said. "Stirring is the easiest part." He grinned and even I had to break out into a wide smile.

"Fine," I said with a roll of my eyes as I took the spoon, slowly swirling it around the cauldron.

"I'm glad I finally got a smile out of you," Fred said, resting his hands on the table and watching me as I stirred.

"It's literally your job to get people to smile," I said.

"And?" Fred asked.

"It's just another day in the life for you."

"But I love doing it," Fred said. "Why do you think I chose this job? I don't like making people smile _because_ it's my job. I made it my job because I love doing it." He paused as he began sifting through the paperwork on the table, trying t organize it into a stack. "And I'm good at it."

"I'm sure you are," I said. It was quiet again as I continued to stir the potion. "Is there ever a lot of pressure on you? To always be funny, even when you're not in the mood?" I looked up and studied his eyes again. The lack of sparkle, the circles under his eyes.

"I suppose," Fred said with a shrug. "But I never feel any pressure. In fact, I try harder to make people laugh during difficult times. It distracts me-and them." He cleared his throat before smiling widely at me again. "But look at you! I think this is the most you've said to me since we met."

"We met once. A week ago," I pointed out. "And can we please stop talking about how quiet I am? It's not something I enjoy having pointed out."

Fred nodded as he studied me.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked, watching as Fred used his wand to levitate the cauldron and tip it over a rectangular metal tin. The purple liquid began pouring into the tin, slowly filling up the space.

"Go for it," Fred said, his eyes on the moving liquid.

"Why are you talking to me? Why did you want me to stay? Why did you give me a tour and bring me back here?"

Fred looked up at me and studied my face seriously for a moment. I could tell he was taking his time thinking about his response. "You looked-" he began, before breaking off.

"I looked what?" I whispered.

"You looked like you could use a friend," he finally said slowly.

"What gave you that impression?" I asked. "How would you know if I needed a friend or not?"

Fred opened his mouth for a second before closing it and clearing his throat awkwardly as if he was struggling with saying what was going through his head. But then he seemed to recover and smiled widely. The grin was back, but it still wasn't reaching his eyes. "I just know. I'm intuitive like that."

"I see," I answered, falling silent again.

Just then, the door to the back room opened and George poked his head in. "Fred, I'm-" When he saw me, he did a double take. "Hi," he said in surprise.

"George, you remember Sophie, don't you?" Fred asked, stretching his arms above his head.

George nodded and stepped fully into the room as he grinned at me-the same large smile as his twin, except for it actually reached his eyes. Although, again, just by looking at him, I could tell he'd been through something big. I wasn't sure if it was because Martha had already said something or not, but I could tell that both he and his brother were healing from something. Perhaps George quicker than Fred.

"Fred and I looked for you on Friday during our weekly visit to the Leaky Cauldron, but we didn't see you," George said.

"I was back to clearing tables," I shrugged. "Laying low, staying out of the way."

"Did Flint and his fellow cavemen give you any more trouble?" George asked.

I shook my head. "I stayed clear of them," I said. "Kept my head down. Out of sight, out of mind."

"Don't be afraid of them," Fred scoffed. "They feed off of it."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure they've never tripped _you_ or tossed a drink in _your_ face." I sighed. "Anyway, I'm not _afraid_. They're just your typical bullies. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

Fred gave me a quizzical look, before seeming to think better of it. He rubbed his eyes and turned to George. "Working on a Sunday is _strange_."

"You don't usually?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

Fred shook his head. "We're closed every Sunday normally, but we closed on a Saturday a few weekends ago, back at the beginning of the month, so we decided to make up for it by opening today."

"Oh," I answered. I thought of asking the reason for the random closure, but didn't, not wanting to pry. I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate or not.

"So," George said, rubbing his hands over his face in exhaustion as he turned to Fred, "Mum wants us over tonight by seven, so that'll give us enough time to close up, get ready to go and get over there."

Fred nodded. "Okay," he said, turning back to the pan of purple mixture and poking at it. It was the consistency of jelly at this point as opposed to liquid.

George turned to me. "Every Sunday, Mum has our entire family over for dinner," he explained. It's been a good way to see each other since we all started moving out."

I nodded. "Oh," I said again.

"Would you like to join us?" George asked with an amused smile.

"George, I don't know if-" Fred began, giving George a hesitant look.

"Fred, come on," George said quietly.

"I don't know if I can handle...everyone," Fred said, sighing heavily. "I know what they'll think and I know how they'll act."

"You _don't_ know that," George argued.

I had no idea what they meant or what they were talking about, but I suddenly felt terribly uncomfortable. "It's okay," I said quickly, standing up. "I don't want to intrude. It's a family dinner and you and I just met." I paused and gestured towards the door. "I should get going anyway."

Fred seemed to suddenly snap out of whatever funk he'd been in. "No, you don't have to leave. You practically just got here."

"Yeah, don't let my moody, sullen brother chase you away," George said.

"You both have work to do," I said, making my way to the door. "I've stayed long enough." I paused. "I'll, uh...see you around. I guess."

The twins looked at each other before looking back at me. Fred gave me a wry smile. "We know where to find you," he said. "And you know where to find us."

I nodded and offered a tiny smile before leaving the room and weaving my way through the shop. I pushed open the front door, jingling the bell overhead as I did so, and made my way out into the alley. There were some people out and about, but it wasn't overly crowded, which was good. I'd heard from Tom and Martha that the place was packed towards the end of summer when Hogwarts students came to do their school shopping.

I began walking down the alley, taking my time. I was in no rush. It was only early afternoon and I had the whole rest of the day to myself with absolutely nothing to do. Maybe I'd take the time to go into any of the shops that caught my eye.

As I walked, I thought about the twins. I couldn't explain it, but something about them drew me in. I didn't know if it was curiosity and a desire to know more about them or if it was their captivating, vibrant personalities and their equally vibrant joke shop, but there was something. They were nice to me, just like everyone else had been, but they also didn't ask questions. They didn't pry. Mostly everyone else I'd met so far had wanted my entire life story upon meeting me. I suppose I could understand. I wasn't from here and I'd appeared suddenly without reason. I wasn't related to Tom and Martha-hadn't even known them when I'd arrived, and yet they'd taken me in. I'd be curious, too. But the thought of sharing my story with anyone terrified me. I wanted to keep my head down. That was the goal. Keep my head down and fly under the radar. Distance myself from home. I was sick of being asked things about myself that I didn't want to share-and I was sick of having to turn them down, because to be honest, a large part of me wanted friends. Needed them, really. But for one, I didn't totally know how to go about doing it, and for another, I told myself keeping to myself was best. If I wanted to distance myself from home and my past, moving across an ocean didn't seem to be enough. Maybe it was a childish way of thinking, but I'd practically convinced myself that if I ignored my past, it wouldn't be able to catch up with me.

I slowed my walk somewhat as I snapped out of my trance. I suddenly had the feeling that I was being followed. I glanced over my shoulders but saw nobody out of the ordinary, so I turned back around and kept walking, feeling more on alert now. I had nothing to worry about, I reminded myself as I tried to calm my nerves. I was safe. There was no way anything or anyone from home could have followed me here. They didn't know- _couldn't_ have known-where I'd gone.

As I was thinking this, someone jostled me from behind, knocking into my shoulder. I gasped and stumbled a bit and only managed to notice a small, worn book fall to the ground in front of me-probably from the person who'd bumped into me. Without thinking, I grabbed it and stood up, quickly searching for the owner so I could return it, but there was no one. Whoever had bumped me had simply kept walking. They probably hadn't noticed they'd dropped something. I thought it slightly odd-I'd think they'd notice the sudden absence of a book. Especially if they'd pause to apologize for bumping into me, which anyone with manners _should_ have done.

Chewing on my lip, I flipped open the front cover of the book, hoping to find a name, an address-or both-inside. And I did. But the information was useless. That is not to say, however, that it didn't grab my attention. Quite the opposite, in fact. The words made my breath hitch and my chest constrict in shock, surprise and confusion as I read the words on the first page.

 _The Diary of Elizabeth Ann Proctor. Salem, Massachusetts, 1692_

Salem. The very place I'd just run away from. My past _was_ following me.


	4. Chapter 4

One of my earliest memories of my mother was of her trying to teach me how to ice skate. There was an indoor rink back in Salem that my mother used to go to as a kid, and her mother before that. And my mother brought me as early as three. I only had two years of _walking_ under my belt and she was already attempting to get me to skate.

It had always been the two of us, ever since shortly after I was born. I never knew anything about my father and had never really thought to ask at such a young age. I was happy with just me and my mother. She taught me a lot in my first five years. Most of which I didn't remember-like walking, talking, and toilet training. But other things, I can remember a little better, although even those memories are vague. Two of them are learning to read and learning how to skate.

One of the memories I can remember more clearly was when I was around five. My mother was facing me and holding my hands as she skated backwards, pulling me along in her wake. I had spent a good amount of the past two years falling and clinging onto the side of the rink for dear life and this was my first time venturing away from the sides. I gripped my mother's fingers for dear life and my legs were stiff as a board.

"Relax a little, Soph," she said, her clear, ice blue eyes-the same as mine-crinkling at the corners as she smiled a toothy grin at me. "I've told you everything you need to know about how to skate on your own. You just need to _do_ it." She tried to wiggle her hands from my grasp, but I only held on tighter.

"No, Mommy, don't let go!" I screeched as she laughed and shook her head.

"It seems hard now," she told me, "but it's just like learning to walk. One second you're struggling and the next, you're flying."

"I can't remember learning how to walk," I told her.

"But you did, didn't you?" she asked.

I had simply shrugged in response.

Not even a week later, I was doing exactly what she'd predicted. I was flying around the rink without any support. I still fell occasionally, but luckily never got any serious injuries and was able to get right back up and keep going.

"I told you, didn't I?" my mother laughed as we left the rink. She grabbed me and pulled me to her as she tickled me and I giggled hysterically. "I _told_ you!" She released her hold on me and slipped her hand around my small one as we kept walking. "I was completely right, wasn't I? One second you were struggling, too afraid to let go of anything, and the next, you were _flying_ across that ice."

"It's so much fun!" I exclaimed. "I'd rather skate than walk, I think."

My mother laughed. "See? It's going to become second nature before you know it. And you know, this goes for anything difficult in life, not just skating and walking. Remember that. Whenever you're struggling with _anything_ -it'll be hard for a while, but before you know it, you'll be flying."

"Can we get hot chocolate?" I asked in response, completely ignoring my mother's attempt at advice.

She laughed. "You got it."

It was less than a year later when she was rushing me out of our house in the middle of the night, telling me nothing except that we had to move quickly. She handed me a small bag of some of my belongings and rushed me down the street, glancing over her shoulder every so often.

When I had asked her where we were gong, all she said was, "Somewhere safe."

She brought me to the place where she worked (an old but beautiful white house, preserved and converted into a museum), unlocked the back door, and hustled us inside, still looking over her shoulder. She slammed the door and locked it behind her. Without bothering to turn on any lights, she knelt down in front of me and planted a hasty kiss to my forehead, and one on each of my cheeks. "I want you to stay here for a little bit, okay? Mommy just has to go check on one thing and I'm going to come back for you. We're going to go on a lot of fun adventures. We can go anywhere we want. We can go to New York City and see that giant ice rink we talked about, remember? Skating in New York-how great would that be? We can even go to Europe. We can see the Eiffel Tower...or go to England! Remember how we talked about my family-our family-used to live there before coming here? A long time ago..." She trailed off and looked at me lovingly.

"What about our house and your work?" I muttered sleepily, gripping my teddy bear in my hand tightly as I rubbed my eyes. "I like it here. I like Salem!"

"Maybe we'll come back one day," she said, giving me another quick kiss on the forehead before instructing me to sit down on the floor. She covered me with a blanket and smoothed my hair. "I'll be back soon," she whispered, rubbing a thumb over my cheek. "I love you to the moon and back."

"Mommy, I'm scared," I whined, reaching out for her as she stood up and backed away.

"I'll be right back," she assured me. "It's safer for you here than out there. But I promise you I'm coming back. I promise. Before you know it, I'll be coming to get you okay?" She leaned down for one more swift kiss. "Stay here and stay quiet. I love you."

And with that, she hurried back to the door and put her hand on the knob. Before she turned it, she took one last look over her shoulder at me. I could see her bright blue eyes in the tiny amount of moonlight streaming through the window. Her wavy, dark brown hair spilled from under her hat and framed her face as she smiled at me. And then she turned and left, shutting the door behind her. I heard the lock click and then she was gone.

She never did come back.

* * *

The diary that I had found got tossed into the back of my closet and remained there, untouched. I had no idea what to do with it. I was curious, sure, and that part of me wanted to keep the diary and actually spend some time reading it. But another part of me wanted to burn it. Permanently destroy anything that reminded me of home.

It scared me that something like this could have ended up in my hands. It seemed to spooky to be accidental, which made me paranoid. But if someone from home-someone who wanted to hurt me-had followed me here, why would they simply drop the diary? Why would they waste time playing games? I had no idea what to make of any of it, but I did know I was afraid to read that diary. Who was to say if it even was a normal diary? As far as I know there could've been some kind of magic hidden inside. If someone wanted to hurt me, a cursed diary would be an inconspicuous way to do it. No one would ever know who the culprit was.

"Are you all right?" Rachel asked me at work on Thursday. It had been four days since I'd picked up the diary and I'd told no one about it. I had been debating about it, but couldn't make up my mind. So far, it had been pretty harmless sitting in the back of my closet. I just needed to decide if I wanted it to stay there or not. Or if I wanted to even open it.

I paused at Rachel's question as I levitated the last of the dirty dishes from my stack into the sink. "I'm fine," I finally answered, turning to give her a brief smile as I tucked my hair behind my ears. She was standing at the doorway, staring at me with her head tilted.

"You look even deeper in thought than usual," she said. "Is something bothering you? Or some _one_? One of the customers?"

I shook my head. "No."

"I heard about what happened two weeks ago when I went home sick, you know," she said. "Those boys are _jerks._ You just have to know how to deal with them."

"And how's that?" I asked quietly, fiddling with my shirt.

Rachel was quiet. "Listen, why don't you hang out with us Saturday night? Tom and Martha have me scheduled until seven and you until eight. You could come over to my place after work. And you can come with me when we go out. Some of us are going into Hogsmeade. We could get to know each other a bit more." When I didn't respond, she pressed on. "I think we're pretty friendly people."

"You ask me to hang out with you nearly every week," I said. "I'm surprised you haven't given up yet," I said, turning back to the sink and turning the water on before adding some soap to it. It was quiet for a moment before I looked back up at Rachel, who was staring at me with a familiar expression on her face, her expressive dark brown eyes also giving her feelings away. "You feel sorry for me, don't you?" I asked, a tinge of annoyance in my voice.

"No," Rachel said quickly, widening her eyes and shaking her head rapidly. "I just...I like making new friends and I also do want to help you feel welcome. You're new around here. I think you could use a friend more than anyone, no matter how tough you try to act."

I stared at her. It was true that Rachel had certainly felt like a persistant, one person welcoming committee ever since I got here. She was friendly, with a large warm smile and an infectuous laugh. She was talkative, outgoing, and not to mention gorgeous. Her long, straight hair hung halfway down her back and was such a dark brown it was almost black. And she was tall. She had a good five inches on my 5'3" frame. And I had to admit, her personality made her all the more likeable. A few times I'd found myself actually forcing myself to turn down her invites for my own good, when really, I had almost wanted to hang out with her.

"You're not insulted that I keep turning you down?" I asked curiously.

"No," Rachel said brightly, shrugging her shoulders. "I know not everyone can be a chatterbox like myself and I respect that. According to my mother, I'll talk to anyone who will listen and could make friends with a tree." She laughed and shook her head as she started preparing a tray of drinks. She glanced over at me and seemed unphased by the fact that I was still silently staring at her-gaping slightly in bewilderment, in fact. "By the way," she said, leaning towards me and lowering her voice, "Noah's coming out with us Saturday."

"Okay," I said slowly, looking at her expectantly.

"He's cute, right?" she asked.

"Uh..." I answered, not sure what to say. Was this some kind of a set-up? I was barely allowing myself to make friends, so dating was definitely out of the question.

"I think he has a thing for you," Rachel said matter-of-factly. She paused. "Or at the very least, thinks you're cute."

I raised both my eyebrows as I blushed red and my stomach churned. "He can't have a thing for me. We don't talk. The extent of our conversations consist of _hello_ and _goodbye_.

Rachel shrugged. "So? Like I said, he could also just think you're cute. I mean, he has _eyes_."

I blinked at her. "I-uh-He can't-he can't possibly-" I shook my head.

Rachel looked at me in amusement as she nodded her head slowly. "Hmm, well, if you want him to like you for more than just your looks, you should actually talk to him. A good time would be Saturday night." She eyed me up and down. "Do you have something to wear?"

"I own clothes, so yes, technically I do have _something_ ," I said.

"Ah, she's _funny_ ," Rachel said with a grin. "And sarcastic. Who knew? Okay, so come over right after work on Saturday and I'll help you out. With everything. You'll catch on quick and you'll fit right in in no time."

"Rachel, I don't think I-"

"See you then!" Rachel chirped, picking up her tray and bustling out of the room.

I groaned and put my head in my hands. Shit. What had I gotten myself into?

* * *

Saturday night, after my shift ended, I tried to head straight upstairs. I really did. I tried to sneak right on up to the flat, planning on making up some excuse to tell Rachel on Monday morning, but I had no such luck. Rachel was not one to give up-clearly-and I found her sitting at the kitchen table with Martha when I went upstairs.

"Uh...hi," I said slowly, staring between the two of them as they smiled at each other, then at me. It was creepy, to be honest.

"Rachel tells me you're going out with everyone tonight!" Martha beamed and looked at me hopefully.

"Oh...no, not quite-"

"I'm so glad," Martha went on, clasping her hands together as she looked at me. "So, so glad."

I swallowed and stared at Rachel nervously.

"Come on," Rachel said with a grin, grabbing my wrist and leading me towards my bedroom. How she knew where it was was beyond me, but I didn't bother asking any questions. Not that she would have let me ask anyway. She was already rambling on.

"I know I originally said we'd go to my place and get you ready, but I decided it would be easier for me to come here. Less of a chance that you'd bail, which you were already planning on doing, weren't you?" She looked at me knowingly, but didn't allow me to answer before continuing. "I invited Kayla and Allison over, too. You know, two of the other waitresses from work. And then I already told you that Noah will be meeting us there with his friend Alex. And then you never know who else will show up because Saturday nights tend to get pretty crowded over at the Three Broomsticks."

We had entered my room at this point and I had felt myself pale as I plopped down onto my bed. So many people. I already felt uncomfortable. Rachel had already gone to my closet and was searching through it eagerly, too busy to notice my expression. I looked around the room and saw clothes that weren't mine draped over my desk chair, and on my desk sat a bag of makeup. Rachel had brought her things over.

"I should probably ask Martha about having everyone over here," I finally said slowly, feeling as if my brain were lagging.

"Already did!" Rachel said, sweeping hangers across the rack in my closet as she looked for an outfit. "She said it was fine. She's overjoyed, actually." She sighed and stepped back, putting her hands on her hips and blowing a puff of air out of her mouth. A tendril of hair shot upwards before fluttering down again.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"No," Rachel said slowly as she tilted her head to the side, still studying my wardrobe. "You're clothes are _nice_. Just not what I had in mind for tonight."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

Rachel turned and walked to my desk chair. She held up a black, off the shoulder shirt and a dark pair of jeans. "Something like this. You know, nice, but not _trashy_."

I shrugged. "Sorry, I've just-"

"Never come out with us before so you don't know what to expect," Rachel said. "I know. Which is why it's good that you _start_ hanging out with us and _learn_ what to expect." She smiled and turned back to my closet. "There has to be something in here we can make work until we can go shopping."

"I-um-I'm trying to save up my money. I don't want to spend a lot on other things."

"That explains why you only seem to own the basics," Rachel said, nodding. She turned to look at me. "I respect that-you wanting to save up. I really do. _But_ I also respect splurging on yourself once in a while." She wiggled her shoulders and smirked. "We're only young once, yes? We have our whole lives to save money, but only a limited amount of time to pull off outfits like that." She nodded towards the clothes she'd brought for herself.

I was quiet for a moment. "I don't know," I said with a wry smile. "It depends on the person. We could have Tom and Martha model for us to settle the debate, though."

Rachel gaped at me in amusement. "That's the second time you've shown off your sense of humor and I _love_ it."

I blushed and smiled timidly as I looked away. Rachel turned back to the closet.

"You know, this shirt will work fine," Rachel said, pulling out a maroon colored, long sleeved shirt with off-white lace adorning the hem. "It's cute." She looked at me. "Please tell me you own jeans."

"I'm wearing some right now, aren't I?" I asked.

Rachel studied the ones I was wearing for a moment. "Don't you have any darker ones?"

I nodded and crossed the room to the dresser. I selected a pair of jeans and turned around to face Rachel again.

"Perfect. Put them on. This too." She tossed the shirt at me.

I stared as Rachel turned to her own clothes and then started changing right in front of me. Merlin, that girl was confident. I almost wanted to insist I'd go change in the bathroom, but I forced myself to stay put. I felt that if I tried to leave, she might get suspicious of why I wanted to change in another room and I didn't want that. Double checking to make sure that she was distracted with her own outfit, I quickly stripped off the clothes I'd worn to work before pulling on the shirt and jeans we'd just picked out. Rachel turned and looked at me just as I was pulling my hair out from beneath the collar of the shirt. Perfect timing.

"You look wonderful," Rachel said. "Now, sit." She pointed to my bed.

I did as she said, knowing better at this point than to try to argue with her. It was easier to just go along with whatever she wanted. She grabbed her makeup bag and studied my face thoughtfully.

"Nothing too crazy," I told her.

"No, of course not. That's just not you," she said absentmindedly. "Shut your eyes."

I did as she said and heard her rummaging through her bag, objects clinking around as she did so. The movements stopped and I could sense her hands close to my face.

"Don't close your eyes _that_ hard," she said. "Relax them a little."

I did as she said and felt her sweeping something along the bottom of my eyelid, near my lashes. I flinched and squeezed my eyes shut again.

"You don't wear makeup much, do you?" Rachel asked.

"Never," I replied.

"Why not? If you don't mind my asking," Rachel said as she moved on to my other eye.

I hesitated before shrugging. "Never owned any."

"But-"

Before Rachel could ask any more questions, there was a knock on the door. It was Kayla and Allison. Rachel let them in happily and the three of them immediately began talking amongst themselves, discussing outfits and shoes and what people were and weren't supposed to be at The Three Broomsticks later on.

"I heard that Angelina Johnson was there last week," Kayla said. She paused dramatically. "With Oliver Wood." She raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes.

" _Alone_ with Oliver Wood?" Rachel gasped, grabbing something else from her makeup bag and turning back to me.

" _Alone_ ," Allison said. "I'm devastated."

"You've _never_ spoken to him, Al," Kayla said with a roll of her eyes. "Angelina was friends with him in school. She has a head start unfortunately. Besides, I thought you were over him."

"I am, but still," Allison muttered. Her eyes fell on me and she smiled. "Sorry, we've been rude. We barged into your bedroom and didn't even say hello."

"Hi," I said with a tiny wave.

"Look down," Rachel said automatically as she held a mascara wand dangerously close to my eyeball.

"Sorry."

"To fill you in," Kayla said, lightly tapping my shoulder so I'd know she was talking to me, "Allison was madly in love with Oliver Wood while we were in school. It lasted a whole two years. Our entire fifth and sixth years were consumed with discussions on Oliver Wood. And he wasn't even at school during our sixth year! But he'd gone off and gotten a spot on a professional Quidditch team and was all over the papers, so there was always plenty of new information for Allie to yammer on about. She was _obsessed_."

"Was not!" Allison protested.

"Was too!" Rachel and Kayla chorused together.

Allison made a face and plopped down on my bed. "What year were you born in?" she asked me suddenly.

"Nineteen seventy-eight," I answered, glancing up at her.

"Don't look up," Rachel said, "or else you're eyeball will end up skewered on this mascara wand. And I am _so_ not in the mood for kebobs tonight."

"Gross!" Kayla and Allison squealed.

Allison flopped backwards so that she was lying down now, her hair fanned around her head. "So, nineteen seventy-eight, huh? Month?"

"June," I said after a pause.

Allison nodded. "Kayla and I were also born in seventy-eight. Kayla in January and me in August. Rachel's a year older. The seventh of July. Her birthday is entirely sevens."

"Seven, seven, seventy-seven," Kayla recited from across the room where she was trying to fix her hair in my mirror.

"It's not as cool as they make it out to be," Rachel said. "Okay, your makeup is done. You can open your eyes. I didn't put a lot on, just as you requested."

"You look beautiful," Allison told me earnestly. She grinned. "Any cute boys you're interested in at the moment?"

"She's only been here a month," Kayla reminded her. "And she rarely leaves this building." She glanced at me. "Sorry, it's just the truth."

I nodded. "I know. But honestly, I don't think I have time for a boyfriend right now."

"I told you, you should get to know Noah a little bit," Rachel said. "Come on, trust me. I'm good at setting people up."

"You've set up one couple," Allison said. She turned to look at me. "Kayla and her boyfriend-who just so happens to be Rachel's cousin."

"Yeah, but it was effective, making me good at it," Rachel said.

"You can't know that based on one effective set up," Allison argued.

"Allie's right," Kayla chimed in from across the room, where she was doing her own makeup.

I sat on my bed and listened as the three of them went back and forth, debating Rachel's matchmaker skills. For a moment, I almost started feeling jealous of their friendship. They were clearly close. It was interesting because while they all had their similarities, they were different too, both in looks and in personality. While Rachel and Allison were bubbly and talkative, Kayla was a bit more serious and blunt than the others. She was tall like Rachel, and Allie was shorter. They all had brown hair, but it was varying lengths and shades. But despite their differences, they were close to each other-that was obvious. I was envious. Although, maybe if I let them take me under their wings, I could one day be able to effortlessly join in their conversations as well.

But that all depended on a lot. I didn't know how long I was staying here, but I wasn't sure I intended it to be long. The plan had been to keep moving, but ever since coming here, the plan had been thrown off. I had already stayed here a little longer than the other locations because Tom and Martha had actually been kind enough to take me in, give me a home and a job. And I _did_ need the money, which was another thing enticing me to stay for a bit. And actually finding some people who were intesrested in me and who were actually bothering to include me threw yet another wrench in the plan. A big part of me wanted to stay. A big part of me was tired of running. A big part of me just wanted to feel loved for the first time in a long time.

But the problem was that diary. It had spooked me just enough to start immediately considering running again. Keeping on the move. Of course, it could have been a coincidence, but I wasn't totally sure I believed it. It scared me enough to want to run, but at the same time, I didn't want to leave. And that freaked me out the most of all.

* * *

An hour later, I found myself squished between Rachel and Noah at a table at the Three Broomsticks. We'd had to actually push two of the smaller tables together to make a larger rectangular one due to the amount of people that had shown up. It was pretty much everyone Rachel had mentioned so far. The four of us, plus Noah, and his friend Alex. And then Kayla's boyfriend, Chris-the one who was also Rachel's cousin-showed up. There was seven of us total, not to mention the fact that the rest of the pub was pretty packed.

I tugged the ends of my sleeves over my hands and examined them in interest as everyone began loudly talking about their days at Hogwarts-which, I guess was the magical school in this area. I had nothing to contribute and felt completely out of my comfort zone so I just sat and listened as I fiddled nervously with my sleeves. Merlin, I looked like such a misfit.

"What school did you go to?" Alex asked suddenly.

My head snapped up suddenly. "Me?" I squeaked, mentally kicking myself after the word had left my lips. Of _course_ he was talking to me. He knew what school everyone _else_ had gone to.

"I'm guessing Ilvermorny, right?" Rachel asked, taking another long sip of her firewhiskey. She was nearly done with hers at this point-so was nearly everyone else-but I'd barely touched mine.

I nodded. "Mhm."

"What's it like there?" Allison asked eagerly, leaning forward to look at me around Rachel.

"Er...big," I said. "Pretty. I imagine it's very similar to your school in a few ways."

"Did you have to be sorted into a house like at Hogwarts?" Noah asked. "I was in Ravenclaw with Alex and Kayla. Rachel and Allison were in Hufflepuff."

I nodded and began fiddling with my sleeves again, pulling them over my fingers, then back again. "My house was called Thunderbird."

"Now _that_ is a cool house name," Rachel said, downing the rest of her drink. "Thunderbird. Loads better than Hufflepuff."

"There's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff," Allison said hotly.

"I didn't say there was. It's just the name..." Rachel shrugged. "I'm going to go order another drink. Everyone else want one?"

Everyone agreed while I simply remained quiet and chewed on my lip.

"Drink up," Rachel said with a grin, noticing my mostly full bottle. She leaned forward to whisper in my ear as she started to stand up. "They don't call that stuff liquid courage for nothing. It'll loosen you up. Make you less nervous."

"I-" I began, but fell silent as Rachel headed back up to the bar to order more drinks.

"So," Noah said from my other side, "what'd Rachel say to convince you to come out tonight?"

I shrugged. "She really just didn't give me much choice in the matter. She was just waiting for me once my shift was over." I took a drink of my firewhiskey, just to have something else to do with my hands at that point besides fiddle with them.

"Sounds like Rachel," Noah said.

I could feel him staring at me, so I took another drink, a bigger one this time, and I coughed and sputtered a bit as it went down.

Noah looked at me in amusement. "You okay?"

I nodded. Honestly, in addition to being nervous, this was only the second time I'd had firewhiskey. I'd pretty much reacted the same way the first time trying it, but it had been years ago and I'd forgotten, especially now, sitting at a table full of people in a crowded pub, with Noah practically staring me down with large brown eyes.

"So, I was wondering," Noah began slowly, turning in his seat so he was facing me. He leaned in closer and I felt myself stiffen.

"Yes?" I squeaked out, glancing up as I saw Rachel returning with seven drinks floating along in front of her. She sent them to each person at the table-even to me for some reason-before scurrying to stand behind Allie and Kayla's chairs as they whispered in excitement.

"I'd like to get to know you a bit more," Noah said. "I think you're really pretty—and I know there's more to people than their looks, and it's not all I'm after, but—well, I'm rambling now aren't I?" He took another sip of his drink. "I know you're really closed off," he whispered, "but I think if we hang out a bit, you could-well, I just wanted to know if you'd like to-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Rachel practically crashed into her seat beside me and grabbed my arm. "Oh my gosh, so Allie is _freaking_ out."

I could have hugged her for her interruption because Noah instantly leaned back in his seat and away from me, looking a bit disgruntled as he picked up his second drink and took a sip.

"Why?" I asked.

Rachel pointed to another large table nearly on the other side of the room. "See that guy that just walked in and is standing at the end of that table? He still has a jacket on and he's talking to the boy with black hair sitting down?"

"I do," I answered. I raised an eyebrow. "Why is Allison freaking out over the guy in the jacket if I'm fairly certain that the one sitting down is Harry Potter? He's pretty famous over here, isn't he?"

"Sounds like he is in America, too, if you've heard of him," Rachel answered.

"News travels," I shrugged.

Rachel smiled. "He's gotten his fair share of girls ogling at him, don't worry. Are you a big fan? Want his autograph?" She smirked at me as I blushed and shook my head.

"No, not at all. I just-I was just curious."

"Mm, he's a bit scrawny if you ask me. _Still_. At first I thought it was just because he lived under a staircase for the first eleven years of his life, but even throughout school, he never changed." She shrugged.

"He lived under a staircase?" I asked curiously.

Rachel nodded. "Apparently his Muggle aunt and uncle were pretty horrible."

"How do you know that stuff?" I asked, gazing over at Harry, who was still talking to the guy in the jacket, who was now taking off his jacket and sitting down.

"News travels," Rachel said with a smirk and a shrug as she took a sip from her drink. " _Anyway_ , the important thing is that the guy in the jacket is Oliver Wood."

"The guy Allison's practically in love with?" I asked, peering at the guy. I had to admit, he was good looking. I could see why Allison was drawn to him.

"Yep," Rachel said with a nod. "That's him. Oh, and the girl sitting next to Harry? The one with the red hair? That's Ginny Weasley, Harry's girlfriend. You know, in case you still had any ideas." She jokingly bumped my knee with hers under the table.

"Weasley," I repeated. "As in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? The joke shop in Digon Alley?"

"The very same," Rachel said. "Ginny is Fred and George's little sister. How do you know about the joke shop?"

"I-I went there. Last Sunday."

"You _did?_ " Rachel asked. "I'm impressed. You ventured out! To a _joke_ shop, no less. Interesting." She paused before giving me a look. "Or did you not go there for jokes?"

"I went there because I needed something to do," I assured her.

"Come on, you have to admit, the twins are cute. You _have_ met them, haven't you?"

I shrugged. "Briefly. One of them stepped on my foot the day you went home sick." I decided to leave out the fact that I'd actually spoken to them that night-and also hung out with them when I visited the joke shop. I didn't need Rachel making something out of nothing.

Rachel let out a squeal of laughter. "I'm sorry, it's not funny, but it's funny." She suddenly stopped laughing as she noticed something by the door. "Speak of the devil," she said, pointing.

I turned to look and froze for a second as I saw the twins themselves coming into the pub with another red head boy, just about as tall as they were. Another sibling from the looks of it. I watched as they made their way over to the table where Oliver, Harry and Ginny sat, yelling out words of greeting as they slid out of their coats.

"Oh, look, and there's Angelina, Katie and Alicia," Rachel said, pointing to three girls who'd just walked in. "It's like a Gryffindor Quidditch team reunion or something."

"I bet that's exactly what it is," Kayla chimed in. She turned in her seat to look at the group in question. She snorted. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Al, but Angelina's sitting next to Oliver and I'm pretty sure I can see them both blushing from here."

"Shut up," Allison muttered, taking a long sip of her drink.

"Fred looks less than thrilled about it," Rachel commented. "He's got a death grip on his firewhiskey and there's, what, a ten second interval between sips?"

"Probably needs something to do with his hands and mouth," Kayla said. She snorted. "You know, since it's Angelina they used to be all over."

"Kayla!" Allison exclaimed. "The breakup was hard on him."

"He technically brought it on himself," Kayla said.

"Kayla," Allison chastised again. She lowered her voice to a whisper as her face became solemn. "He was really affected by what happened, and can you blame him?"

I looked between them curiously. I wanted to ask what had happened, but I didn't think it was fair to Fred to be nosy. I was sure he didn't want his information-certainly something as big as whatever this was-blasted all over the place. Although, it seemed as if it were public knowledge around here. And something told me that Rachel was going to tell me anyway. As nice as these girls were, they sure did like to gossip. I wasn't even sure if that was _normal_ or not.

Sure enough, Rachel turned back to me with a sad smile. "Fred-and his whole family really-went through an especially tough time last May. I don't know how much you know-the whole story is pretty long-but essentially there was a huge battle at Hogwarts where Harry ended up killing Voldemort. A lot of other people died in the process, and-" she broke off suddenly and sighed, shaking her head as she gazed towards Fred and the others.

I suddenly found myself freeze and my breath hitch in anticipation of what she was going to say. I wasn't even totally sure if I wanted or deserved to know. It wasn't fair for me to know when nobody else knew anything of my past and I didn't plan on telling them. And besides, I had gotten the sense that Fred and George didn't want people to know-at least, strange, _new_ people. From the way Tom had stopped Martha from talking about it, I'd thought it was something the twins didn't want talked about much. "Maybe you shouldn't tell-" I began quietly, but Rachel didn't seem to hear and began talking again.

"One of the twins' brothers died saving Fred's life."


	5. Chapter 5

After Rachel had spilled the news about Fred and George's brother, I had immediately wished she hadn't said anything. I didn't really care anymore if everyone around here knew about it. From what I'd heard about the Battle of Hogwarts, most of these people had probably _been_ there and lived it. A lot of people had probably lost friends and family. I felt out of place knowing something so big when I had just appeared out of nowhere-and it felt even weirder that Rachel had told me instead of one of the twins. It wasn't Rachel's fault. She assured me it wasn't a secret. But I just felt that it was something that perhaps I should have let the twins tell me themselves.

I also couldn't keep my eyes from flicking to the twins every so often throughout the night. I had noticed something off about them before and now that I knew the reason for it, it made me even more sad for them. Clearly, they were still mending (understandably so), even after a year, and yet it was clear that they did their best to push through, have fun, go out with their friends and go on with life as best they could. They went on as if everything were normal, even though I'm sure it was far from it. I was curious as to how they did it because I wanted that for myself as well. I'd gone through different things, but all I'd ever wanted was to move forward and get some stability-still an ongoing struggle. I'd considered this place to be a quick pitstop on my journey to moving on with my life, but instead I was here with a job, shelter, food, and surprisingly... _friends_. Sort of. It was as if this place were supposed to be my journey's end when I wasn't sure it could be. I couldn't rest just yet. Not until I knew for sure I'd be safe.

Another hour at the pub passed and I found myself listening to the conversation around me, adding to it (vaguely, I must say. As usual) when someone asked me a direct question. But other than that, my mind was on the twins. I slowly moved through one and a quarter firewhiskeys in the time it took everyone else at the table to go through at least four. I also couldn't help but notice, despite being across the room, that Fred was moving through drinks a bit more rapidly than his group of friends. I had to admit, he seemed a bit more distant today. Not quite the upbeat person I'd met before.

The people around me were slowly beginning to get a bit tipsy and I found myself not only needing to use the bathroom, but also get some air. They were getting louder and more talkative, while I remained almost just as quiet. I had shown a lot of restraint with how much I had had to drink for a few reasons-all of them personal-and it meant that I was the only mostly sober person, which I hated. Not because I liked being drunk, but because I wasn't sure what to expect from people when they were drunk-especially people I didn't know. The group I was with luckily seemed, well, _okay_ , all things considered. They were just loud, talkative, more giggly. But I still found myself just needing to get away from it all. Besides that, Noah had draped an arm around the back of my chair at some point and was sitting quite close to me. He hadn't tried to ask me out again, but I was afraid he'd do so again soon.

So I whispered to Rachel where I was going, not sure if she even heard me or even processed it if she did, and headed for the bathroom. Once I was done, I quickly stepped out the back door of the pub and into the back alley to get some air. I leaned against the brick wall of the building, right between the door and the trash cans and took a deep breath. The air smelled of the garbage from the trash and I instinctively wrinkled my nose. So much for fresh air.

I stayed outside for a moment more-debating whether I should stay or go. I doubted anyone would notice at the moment if I left, but they'd realize eventually. The thing was that I didn't think I could handle being here anymore. The noise, the alcohol...it was all too much. And all I was doing was sitting there watching them all. I didn't know what I was thinking-I didn't fit in with these people.

I sighed and rested my head against the wall as I closed my eyes. Maybe I'd just go back home and just think of something to tell Rachel and the others when I saw them on Monday. It was easier than going back inside and saying goodbye.

Making up my mind, I pushed off the wall and turned for the door. But as I was reaching for the doorknob, the door swung open and smacked me right in the forehead. I cried out in pain and clutched my aching head as I stumbled back a few steps.

"Oh-shit! Merlin, I'm sorry. I didn't see you!"

I groaned and peered up at the person who was now at my side trying to look for any damage they might have caused. I froze for a second when I saw it was Fred.

"Sophie?" he said in surprise. "Oh, wow, I'm so sorry. I honestly didn't see you. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I mumbled, gingerly pressing my fingers to the left side of my forehead. It ached at the touch and I winced. I tried to step around Fred and go back inside, but he wouldn't let me.

"Here, sit down," Fred said, gently guiding me to a stack of crates placed on the side of the door opposite the trash cans. I sat down, continuing to keep my hand on my head.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "Honestly." My cheeks were as red as the sore spot on my head and I wanted to leave more than ever.

Fred ignored me. "May I?" he asked quietly, gesturing to the spot I was covering as he met my eyes.

I stared up at him, returning his gaze, before slowly lowering my hand, keeping my eyes on his the whole time. I was surprised that he'd asked so gently-and even that he'd asked at all, actually, instead of just telling me to let him see the damage. But it was a good kind of surprise.

After I lowered my hand, Fred lightly pushed some hair from my face before touching his fingertips to my head. I flinched.

"Sorry," Fred apologized. He looked at me. "It's a little red-and already a bit swollen. Do you feel okay?"

"I feel fine," I said. "Except for the fact that it hurts."

He nodded and began studying my eyes. "Pupils look normal. Dilated ones are a sign of a concussion. If you notice anything later or if you start vomiting..." He trailed off and cleared his throat.

"You sure seem to know a lot about concussions," I said.

"George and I have had a few here and there," Fred shrugged.

"How many?" I asked curiously.

"Four," he answered.

I looked up at him. " _Four_ concussions? Four each or between the two of you?"

"Four total," he said. "Each of us have had two."

"Joke related incidents?" I asked.

"One of George's," Fred responded. "The rest were from playing Quidditch."

"Oh," I said, falling silent and aimlessly kicking my heels against the crates I was sitting on.

"You play?" Fred asked after a beat. "Or, rather _did_ you play? While you were in school?"

I shook my head and let out a scoff of laughter. "No. I don't even think I ever watched a match at school. I probably watched about half of one once."

Fred looked aghast. " _What_?"

My head snapped up and I looked at his shocked face in surprise. "Is that a punishable crime here?"

"Practically," Fred spluttered. "Have you ever been on a broom?"

I gave him a look. "What do you think?"

"Merlin's _beard_ ," Fred said, putting his hands on his knees as if he had been suddenly winded by my news.

I stared at him. "Are you all right?" I asked curiously.

Fred stood up straight and looked at me incredulously. "Are all Americans this disinterested in Quidditch or is it just you?"

"Just me, I think," I said.

"Good, good," Fred nodded.

"Good?" I looked at him, perplexed. I had known Quidditch was a big deal-it was back home as well-but I'd never actually talked to a fan about it before. I guess I didn't know just how important it was to some people.

"If you think my reaction is bad, be glad you didn't tell my friend Oliver any of that," Fred said, shaking his head at me. "He's back inside. He was Quidditch captain during my third through fifth years and then he went on to play professionally. He _loves_ Quidditch. More than me and George do. More than even my brother Charlie does."

"How many siblings do you have?" I asked. I asked mostly out of curiosity and without thinking, but then my breath hitched immediately afterwards. Crap. I shouldn't have asked that. One of his siblings had _died_. But then again, he didn't know I knew. As far as he knew, it was an innocent question.

Fred hesitated for a beat, his features freezing before he looked at me and smiled. "Six."

"Six," I repeated. "Wow." There was a pause. "Was Charlie the one who walked in with you?"

"You were watching me walk in?" Fred asked, a teasing smile appearing on his face as he raised an eyebrow.

"No," I said immediately, my face heating up as I looked away. "I-uh-I just happened to glance up and notice you." Merlin, if he knew I'd not only watched him walk in, but had been watching him all night, he'd be _so_ creeped out. I needed to get ahold of myself.

It was quiet for a moment before Fred spoke. "Well, to answer your question, no, that wasn't Charlie. The one back inside is Ron." When I didn't respond, he fell quiet again for a second. "I think we should get you some ice for your head," he finally stated. "It's still looking red."

I shrugged. "Okay," I said, looking at my feet. It was odd. As uncomfortable as Fred made me feel a lot of the time, and as much as I hated knowing his secret, I still liked talking to him-when he wasn't making me squirm, that is. I was so used to people making jokes at my expense to be _mean_. I'd never had anyone do it in jest. There were times when I felt instantly on guard, wondering if Fred was making fun of me too. But he wasn't. His smile was kind, unlike so many others. And he wasn't as mean-just playful. And then he went and did things like this-express genuine concern about hurting me. I'd sadly never experienced something like that before. Usually when people said or did something hurtful to me, they did it intentionally and never felt badly.

Now, Fred pulled open the door and held it so I could go through. Once we were inside, he led me to the bar and asked the bartender for some ice wrapped in a towel. In the meantime, I perched on the last empty barstool while Fred stood beside me. I purposely avoided looking at him, especially once I felt his gaze turn to me.

"So who were you escaping from?" he asked me suddenly.

"Um," I began, frowning as I thought about how to answer that. _Escaping_ made it seem like I didn't like the people I was with. I did. I just wasn't close with them. And they were a bit drunk.

Fred turned and leaned backwards against the bar, resting his elbows on the top, as casual as can be as he gazed towards the table I'd been at. "Work outing?" he asked.

"For the most part," I said. "I've never been out with them before. It's a little weird."

"Ah, yes, because you're a silent hermit," Fred said. "Except when you're around me. You still need a little work, but you do at least speak to me."

I let out a quiet breath of laughter as I half-smiled. "Shut up."

"Was that a _laugh_?" Fred asked, a grin spreading over his face.

I shrugged. "Maybe." I glanced over at him and smiled again.

Just then, the bartender appeared with the ice. Fred took it and thanked him before turning back towards me and gently pressing the ice to my head. "Better?"

I nodded and reached up to hold the ice in place. "I've got it. Thanks."

Fred removed his hands and went back to leaning against the bar and looking out at the crowd of people. "If you're interested in knowing, I went outside to escape the people I was with too."

I turned on my stool and looked at the table he'd been sitting at. "Well...I find it hard to believe you don't know any of those people," I said. "They all seem pretty close and I know for a fact that one of them is your twin. So why the need to escape?"

"The exact opposite reason," Fred said. "I know them a bit _too_ well."

I didn't say anything, instead choosing to wait and see if he elaborated. He didn't so I remained silent. I gazed out at the table again and realized that the people Rachel had told me were Angelina and Oliver were now kissing, right at the table. I vaguely wondered if Allie had seen.

Beside me, Fred let out a noise between a scoff and a growl before turning around and facing the bar, keeping his elbows on the worn surface as he rubbed his hands over his face.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, lowering his hands and looking down at the tabletop. "Just kind of feeling the alcohol, I guess. Actually, I think I need more."

"Uh...Are you sure-" I started, but Fred didn't seem to hear me as he ordered another firewhiskey. Almost the instant it had been handed to him, as if on cue, George appeared at his other side.

"You need to pace yourself," he murmured.

"I am fine," Fred insisted. "Honestly. I'm only slightly feeling it. Besides, you can't expect me to come out with all of you and socialize and not drink. You're not counting anyone else's drinks. I'd say Wood and Angelina are pretty drunk."

"I just don't want you to start regressing," George muttered, ignoring Fred's comment about Angelina and Oliver.

"Look who I ran into outside!" Fred suddenly said loudly, turning and clapping me on the shoulder so hard that I gasped and jerked forward.

"Sophie?" George asked in surprise. "Hi. Er, why do you have ice on your forehead?"

"I hit her with the door," Fred announced.

"Are you okay?" George asked, peering at me in concern.

"Fine," I answered with a tiny smile.

"Georgie, guess what?" Fred asked. "She's watched a total of _half_ a Quidditch match in her entire life."

George stared at me with just as much shock on his face as Fred had, while I just blinked back at him in uncertainty.

"How is that possible?" George asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. It's just...how things happened, I guess."

"That's just not right," George went on. "You'd enjoy it if you went to more matches and got the hang of watching them. You can't make an accurate assessment after just half a match."

I shrugged. "I guess not, but it's too late now."

"You could always come over to the Burrow and play Quidditch with us," George offered. "We don't have an official pitch-just a field surrounded by trees-but we play loads of unofficial games out there. Have been since we were kids."

"The Burrow?" I asked in confusion.

"It's what we call our house," George said. "Mum's great aunt Murial told us our family bred like rabbits, so Fred and I jokingly said that made our house a burrow and the name just stuck." He paused. "So, what do you say? Want to stop by sometime? You can come tomorrow, in fact. Your day off, our day off, we go to the Burrow every Sunday...it's perfect."

"Do you really want Mum to make assumptions, though?" Fred asked, finishing off his drink and raising his eyebrows at George, who rolled his eyes before turning to me.

"Fred thinks our mother-and our whole family, really-will think you're his girlfriend."

"Merlin, George," Fred groaned in exasperation, tipping his head back.

"I'm not," I said lamely. "I'm not his girlfriend."

"You don't seem too worried about Ginny, Harry, Ron and the others noticing," George pointed out, looking at Fred.

"They _won't_ notice," Fred said confidently. "They're not even paying attention to us. Particularly the two _lovebirds._ " He rolled his eyes. "Where's the bartender? I need another drink."

"No, you do _not_ ," George insisted, yanking his brother's arm down from signaling the bartender. "Come on, mate, you know I'm one for having fun and all that, but until I'm sure you've got a hold of yourself, I'm not letting you get out of hand. You'd do the same for me. So knock it off."

Just like last time, I found myself in the middle of some awkward conversation that I didn't think I should have had any part of, so I stood from my stool and set the ice down on the counter. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass. Actually, I was just about to get going, so...I'll see you two around."

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" George called after me as I walked away.

I turned and looked at him as I nodded. "Yeah, thanks for the offer, though." I gave them both a small wave before weaving my way towards the front door and heading home.

* * *

Despite Sunday being my day off, I found myself in the Leaky Cauldron kitchen the next morning, leaning against the counter as Kyle prepared for breakfast and Rachel, Kayla, and Allie tied on their aprons.

"So hungover," Rachel groaned, tipping her head back against the wall and closing her eyes.

"At least _you_ didn't throw up at all," Kayla said. "And at least you didn't see the love of your life kissing another girl." She smirked at Allie and gave her a playful shove. "Isn't that right, Al?"

Allie turned a bright red as Kayla and Rachel hooted with laughter. Rachel stopped abruptly and grabbed her head. "It hurts to laugh," she whimpered.

"Wait, hold on," Kyle suddenly said, holding up his hand, a wooden spoon gripped in his fingers. "Oliver Wood? _Allie_ 's Oliver Wood? Kissing another girl? Do I have to exchange some words with him? Throw a few punches?"

"Kyle," Allie groaned, letting out a long sigh. "He was never technically _mine._ You know that."

"Yeah, but you've liked him for the longest out of anyone. That has to count for something. I doubt whoever he was kissing has liked him for what, four years? Five years? Including the last few when you said you were 'over him'." He made quote marks in the air, his wooden spoon wiggling in his hand as he did so.

"Shut up!" Allie laughed.

"So, who _was_ he kissing? Do tell," Kyle said, setting the spoon down and getting to work cracking some eggs.

"Angelina Johnson," Kayla said.

Kyle nodded thoughtfully. "You have to admit, they make a good pair."

"You're not supposed to say that," Kayla said knowingly as Allie rolled her eyes. "You're supposed to take Allie's side."

Kyle shrugged. "Just stating an opinion." He finally turned to me. "How about you, Mouse? Did you enjoy yourself? Let out a bit of that wild woman that I know is in there somewhere?"

Rachel snorted. "No. She was just as quiet there as she is here. And she barely drank. Although, perhaps it's a good thing. We needed someone to balance out the rest of us." She paused and shook her head before sharing an exasperated look with Kyle. "And then she just left early! Without saying goodbye!"

Kyle raised his eyebrows at me and I simply shrugged before turning back to Rachel. "You weren't that drunk," I said.

"On a scale of one to ten," Rachel said, "with ten being the most drunk...what were we?"

I thought about that for a second. "A five. And three quarters."

"That's pretty generous," Kayla said. "I felt like a twenty."

"Me too," Rachel groaned. She looked at me. "I am glad you at least came out, though. Even if you disappeared for a bit. And then left early." She mock glared at me. "The only reason I'm not totally mad at you is because I know you were with Fred Weasley!" She, Kayla and Allison cackled while I blushed.

"We saw you at the bar with him," Kayla added.

"Fred Weasley, huh?" Kyle asked. "I told you he and George were curious about you."

" _Everyone_ is curious about me," I said. "It's nothing unusual."

"So..." Allison said with a smile, "Fred or Noah?"

"Yeah, we know Noah asked you out!" Kayla exclaimed. "Or at least, he _started_ to. So, who's it going to be?"

"Neither," I said vigorously, shaking my head. "I don't need or want a boyfriend."

"Now that I think of it, though," Kayla said slowly, "what was that I heard George yelling to you before you left? Sounded like he was asking you about going somwhere?" She smiled wider. "What was that about? Did he ask you to hang out with them?"

I shot her a look. "How were you able to comprehend all this? I thought you felt like a twenty on the drunk scale?"

Kayla shrugged. "I was, which was why I didn't quite realize you'd actually _left_. But being drunk does not make me deaf." She smiled. "So did he ask you to hang out with him or not?"

"I'm not going," I insisted as a way of answering.

"Going where?" she asked, looking at me innocently.

I scowled at her. "He invited me to go to their parents' house today and play Quidditch in their backyard. I'm not going. I don't play Quidditch and besides, Fred doesn't want me there. George told me right out the family will auotmatically assume I'm a girlfriend. And I barely know them. So..." I trailed off, a lame end to my rambling, and looked up to see everyone staring at me.

"Unbelievable," Kayla said, shaking her head and looking at the others. "This girl gets asked out twice in one night by two gorgeous guys and I had to practically hit Chris over the head with a brick to ask me out on a first date. I always thought the key was to be social, but maybe I've been going about it all wrong. Maybe I should just become silent and let the boys come flocking."

"Yeah, maybe you should," Allie said, rolling her eyes. "Be silent for once."

Rachel snorted and Kayla scowled.

"I didn't get asked out at all, technically," I said. "Noah didn't get the chance and George invited me to simply hang out as friends. In fact, the last thing they want is anyone thinking it's a date."

"Kayla's just kidding," Rachel said, now looking at me. "You'll get used to her humor eventually. As for George's invite...you have to go!"

"What?" I asked in surprise. "I can't! I can't just show up at their parents' house. I don't know where it is or how to get there."

"It's still early," Rachel pointed out. "It's only breakfast time. In an hour or two, head on over to the joke shop and tell them you've changed your mind."

"No," I insisted.

"Sophie!" Rachel exclaimed, setting her hands on her hips and giving me a playfully stern look.

"Why do you want me to go so much anyway?" I asked.

Rachel was quiet as she stared at me for a second. "Because you don't have a valid reason not to," she said. "Today is your day off and trust me, you do not want to spend it hanging around here."

"That _is_ a bit pathetic," Kayla chimed in.

I bit my lip and looked away as Rachel elbowed Kayla in the side.

"Sorry," Kayla shrugged, "it's just...you must be a little bit interested. Everyone's interested in Fred and George in some way or another. Whether it's a good or bad interest depends on the person. Some are interested in their joke shop success and their humor. Others are curious about what happened last May and how they're responding. It's just like everyone's interested in you. You guys have something in common." She smiled wryly. "My point is that I think part of you must want to go. Everybody wants to have friends. Everybody wants people to talk and relate to. Even the quiet, closed off ones." She raised her eyebrows.

I stared at her for a moment as I thought over what she'd said. I figured she did have a point. Finally, I shook my head. "I can't just...walk up to their flat and invite myself again after I already said no."

"Of course you can," Rachel insisted.

I shook my head again and pushed off the counter. "I don't even play Quidditch. I've never even been on a broom. All I'll do is make a fool out of myself."

"How do you-" Rachel began, but Kyle cut her off.

"Hey, just let it rest, okay?" he said. "Besides, you three need to get to work. Some of the guests should be down for breakfast by now."

I stood there as Rachel, Kayla and Allison grabbed their notepads and headed out of the kitchen. Once they were gone, I looked at Kyle. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he answered, flashing me a smile. "What are you really planning on doing with your day off?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure I can find something to do. Chores or something."

Kyle stared at me in wonder. "Amazing," he said, shaking his head. "Chores on your day off."

I rolled my eyes and headed for the back staircase. "Shut it," I muttered.

Once I was upstairs, I walked aimlessly around the flat for a bit, straightening some things on the kitchen counters and the coffee table in the living room, just to have something to do with my hands. But the truth was that my mind had wandered to that diary hidden in the back of my closet. I was alone, I had some free time and it was quiet. It was the perfect time to look at it. But did I want to? I couldn't seem to make up my mind. I debated it over and over in my head. I was curious, but frightened. It could be cursed. But then again, it would have done something to me by now. It would have done something to me when I picked it up. Although maybe not necessarily. I just couldn't make up my mind.

Finally, I wandered into my bedroom, where I could almost sense the diary sitting there, behind the wood of my closet door and tucked behind a pair of shoes. It was almost as if it were calling out to me. I stood in the middle of the room for what felt like ages until I finally couldn't take it anymore. I made a beeline for the closet, yanked open the door and pulled the worn, tattered diary from the ground. It was brittle and tattered and practically falling apart. I was half hoping that it would fall apart in my hands. But it didn't and my curiosity was getting the better of both me and my nerves.

Walking back over to my bed, I slowly sunk down and leaned against the pillows as I turned the diary over and over. And then taking a deep breath, I gingerly opened it to the first entry.

 _March, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts._

 _I am beginning this diary because I am fearful. I am fearful for the well-being of myself, my dear husband, and the friends we have here. Mary Warren, our servant girl has been acting funny. She falls into odd fits, screaming for her life in the middle of the night. She claims old Giles Corey is practicing witchcraft. She claims he has been projecting his spirit to her room and torturing her terribly._

 _If I am being honest, I have always known Giles to be a bit batty and short-tempered, but he would not dare harm another. We all made a promise long ago, when we first came here to Salem, that we would not risk ourselves. We would not expose ourselves. The danger would be too great. I thought Giles knew better. Unless something has caused him to slip up._

 _We have all practiced a bit of projection magic here and there, in addition to our regular magic, but as I have stated, we all promised to be wise about it. And do it scarcely. It's hard at times-most of the time, really. It is who we are and it is unhealthy to keep it bottled in. Which is why we decided not to contain it altogether, despite the risks. Despite how much some of the inhabitants of this town like to taunt anyone who they believe is a little strange or different. The younger girls especially. Sometimes I suspect they would do most anything to stir up a bit of action._

 _Take poor Sarah Good and her daughter, Dorothy, for example. While Sarah's husband looks for work, Sarah and her daughter wander the town, begging for money. Most of the time, they are sneered at and turned away. Taunted. Teased. Looked down upon. I can hardly bear it. I try to give food and money when I can, but I cannot do much. I mostly will give them my company when they need it. I sneak them into the house for some food and drink and conversation. We have grown to be very friendly as of lately. We need to stick together, especially if things start to escalate with Mary and the other girls._

 _I've tried to talk to Mary, but I fear that if this news spreads, it will spread like wildfire. It may already be too late. If news about any kind of witchcraft, whether the actual stories are true or not, gets around town, there will be a very thorough investigation. Witchcraft is not taken too kindly here. Many are fearful of it. They believe it is the Devil's work. If anyone is accused of witchcraft in this town, they are to be sentenced to death._

 _No matter how careful we are to keep our magic to ourselves and to not let any non-magic folk see, it is hard to say who will be accused and of what. Fear spreads and grows like a wildfire. It makes people do and say things they would not normally do or say. It makes them lie and it makes them desperate. It makes them do what it takes to keep themselves on the right side of safety. I cannot say I blame them. I would do anything to protect myself and the ones I love. But we are not the ones people need protection from._

 _In fact, if a witch hunt begins here in Salem, we will be the ones in need of protection. If a witch hunt begins in Salem, the people I love may not last to the year's end. If a witch hunt begins in Salem, I could be one of the casualties._

"What are you reading?"

I let out a shriek and quite nearly fell off my bed at the sudden voice as my heartbeat skyrocketed. I already had a chill down my spine and goosebumps on my arms from that diary entry, but I had not been expecting to hear anyone speak in the silence of the flat. I looked towards the doorway and saw Fred and George standing there, casually leaning against either side of the door, like bookends.

"Someone is certainly _jumpy_ ," Fred commented.

"What is _wrong_ with you? How did you get in here?" I gasped, standing up, depositing the diary on my bed without even thinking to hide it.

"Rachel told us to use the back staircase," Fred said. "She said it led straight up here and that the back door to the flat is never locked during the day."

"Yes, because it's for _employees_ ," I said, crossing my arms. "Mainly, me, Tom and Martha so that we have easy access throughout the day."

Fred and George shared a look as they grinned at me. "That was some scream," George commented casually.

"Who knew you could yell like that?" Fred asked. "It was impressive, actually."

I glared at him before looking away. "You'd be the first to think so," I mumbled.

"Didn't catch that," Fred said briskly, stepping into the room and looking around. George followed him and I scowled.

"Nothing," I answered, watching with discomfort as they surveyed my room. "Why did Rachel send you up here?"

"She wrote to us," George said. "Said you'd changed your mind about playing Quidditch with us today. But from the looks of it, she set you up, didn't she?"

I nodded. "Sorry."

"See?" Fred said, raising his eyebrows at George. "She doesn't actually want to come."

"Merlin's beard, Fred, I'll tell Mum she's _my_ girlfriend if you want," George said.

"No," I said. "I'm no one's girlfriend."

"George, you already _have_ a girlfriend," Fred pointed out. "You were just with Katie last night, or did you forget? I know I didn't. Especially back at the flat later when you forgot to put up a silencing charm and I had to _bang on the wall_ to alert you that I was in the bathroom _taking a leak_."

My mouth fell open in shock. Honestly, did these two have _any_ sort of filter?

"I already apologized for that," George said coolly. "And okay, maybe I'm grasping at straws here with things that'll make you feel better about Sophie coming over. If you're going to be that weird about bringing girls around, I need to do something to convince you. But you know, maybe it's better if you let them all assume you're moving on with your life. Weren't you also complaining a few weeks ago that Mum was giving you that look? The pity look?"

"That's enough," Fred said firmly, setting his jaw.

I stared at them uncomfortably. How did they always manage to do this? End up talking amongst themselves as if I weren't even here?

I cleared my throat. "Look, if you'll excuse me-"

"So," Fred said, rapidly turning back to me and changing the subject away from him. He reached down and swiftly picked up the diary that was lying on my bed. "What were you reading?"

"Fred, no," I said, reaching for the tattered diary, but Fred held it out of my reach.

"Or were you _writing_?" he asked. "Is this a _diary_?"

"Fred!" I said desperately, stretching to reach for the book, but Fred was too tall. He smirked down at me as I jumped for the diary.

"What were you writing about?" he asked. "Lots of secrets?"

"Give it back!" I demanded firmly, my voice coming out forceful and loud-very unusual for me. I almost surprised myself and I definitely surprised Fred because he froze, his eyes wide as saucers as he stared at me.

"Fine, fine, I guess you can't take a joke after all," he said, tossing the diary back onto my bed and turning for the door. "Come on, George, let's go. We're going to be late."

George stared at me a moment longer as I wrapped my arms around myself and looked at the floor in embarrassment. Finally, a look of determination came over his face as he quickly reached out and grabbed the diary from my bed. I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. "I'll hand it over if you agree to come with us."

"What?" I asked in shock as Fred turned and raised his eyebrows at his brother.

"You heard me," George said. "I give it back if you come and hang out with us."

"That's not fair!" I argued, crossing my arms.

"Rachel wrote to us for a reason. She wants you to get out for a bit."

"I get out," I answered indingnantly. "I just went out with them yesterday!"

"She doesn't think you enjoyed yourself," George answered. "She still thinks you're uncomfortable around people."

I clenched my jaw as my face turned red. "This is none of your business. Not yours, not hers. Nobody's."

"Just leave her, George," Fred said. "Why are you so determined for her to come anyway?"

"I think you could both use a friend," George answered, staring at his brother.

"I have friends," Fred answered gruffly. "And I have you."

"Sometimes I worry that I'm not enough. You've gotten so much better, but you're still not all there. You still haven't really _talked_. Not even to me. Instead, you were either getting wasted, or shutting down, or..." He shrugged. "I think a fresh face could be good for you." He tilted his head towards me.

"So you want to use me?" I asked quietly, feeling my stomach clench. Just when I'd thought the twins would be different.

"No, not quite," George said. "I want to help Fred, but I think you could use the help as well. It's not hard to see you've got some stuff pent up inside of you. You're solitary. It's not healthy to be so alone."

"So you want me and Sophie to be some kind of two person support group?" Fred asked, raising his eyebrows.

George shrugged. "Something like that."

Fred shook his head. "No."

"I can barely even handle my own issues, never mind someone else's," I chimed in.

Fred snorted. "Glad we're on the same page."

George scowled. "Fine. I just thought if I could get two people who had suffered through some hard times to talk, it might make it easier on both of you."

"You know nothing about me," I said.

"No," George said, "I don't." He shrugged. "Either way, the offer does still stand, if not solely for the fact that I do like to make new friends. And I think you'd like my family. Although, there are quite a few of them, so they might scare you completely into silent hermit mode."

"George, shut up," Fred said, rolling his eyes.

"I'll come," I said, the words spilling out of my mouth before I could stop them. I looked at Fred. "I'll tell your entire family I hate you with a passion if you'd like and I'm really only there because George is my new best friend."

The twins looked at each other before turning back to me.

"Why the change of mind?" Fred asked, staring at me with a raised eyebrow. "Is it just the fact that George threatened to not give your diary back?"

I couldn't quite tell them that what I'd read in the diary had gotten me freaked out. I couldn't tell them that if I stayed here, I'd get absorbed in the thing and start overthinking it all. I already was overthinking it. I had in my possession an actual diary from 1692 Salem. I had an actual diary of one of the witnesses of the Salem witch trials. Those trials were famous, particularly in America, and I had grown up in Salem. I'd grown up knowing all about them, and like most people, being curious and almost fascinated by them. But now I had what appeared to be an actual diary from that time. It was eerie and left me with a lot more questions. Who had the diary before me? Where had they gotten it? Why were they here in England? Was all this intentional or just a coincidence? I had no idea and my head was buzzing. If I stayed here in the flat alone, I'd surely make myself crazy.

"Earth to Sophie," George suddenly said, stepping towards me and waving a hand in front of my face. "Are you okay? You look a bit funny. You sure you want to come with us?"

"I just zoned out," I said quietly, rubbing the back of my neck and looking at the ground. "Sorry." I looked up and glanced from one twin to the other. "I'll go with you. I do want the diary back, but truthfully...I also get a little stir crazy being here all day every day."

"Really," Fred said in amusement. "The silent, solitary, people hating hermit gets stir crazy."

"I don't hate people," I protested.

"Perhaps, but you are definitely a silent hermit." He paused. "Or at least...partially silent."

"If you don't want me to go, I can stay here," I said. "Or, like I said, I can tell everyone I hate you." I half-smiled and shrugged.

Fred chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "No, you don't have to say you hate me," he said. "But if anyone asks, we are _not_ dating. We just met."

"So just tell the truth, then," I said, smiling wider.

"Yeah," Fred said slowly, returning the smile. "The truth." There was a pause. "Although, I doubt anyone will believe it."

I stood there silently, not sure of what to say. Finally: "I'm not on board with this support group thing either," I said. "In fact, I came here without a single intention of making friends. But everyone else seems to have different intentions. I just..." I trailed off, unsure of what else to say. What could I say? I hadn't had normal social interaction in years? I was a bit rusty? My deprivation had made me want it even more so now, at even the slightest prospect of it?

"Everyone needs friends," George said quietly.

I nodded. "Yeah. I know."

"Fred?" George said. "You in? Can she come?"

Fred shrugged and blew a puff of air out of his mouth as he looked at the ceiling. "Sure. Why not? But no support group talk. No talking about our issues and certainly no weeping."

I nodded. "Agreed."

"Then let's go," Fred said, a wide smile back on his face suddenly. He nodded towards my nightstand. "Is that your wand? Don't forget it."

I turned and looked at my wand, still pretty new and given to me by Ollivander not long after I'd arrived here. I liked it a lot. It further solidified my plans for a fresh start. New place, new people, new wand. Leave the old stuff behind. I grabbed it and gripped it in my hand as Fred lightly grabbed my wrist. Even at the light contact, I still startled and flinched away.

"We have to Apparate together," Fred explained with a raised eyebrow. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm not trying to hold your hand."

I clenched my jaw and looked away as Fred grabbed my wrist again. He asked if I was ready and I nodded. He counted to three and we disappeared from the flat with a loud pop.


	6. Chapter 6

_What am I even doing? I need to get out of here. Run. Escape. Leave._

 _Stay. George has the diary. Stay at least long enough to get that back._

 _I don't have to let him push me around. Hex him and steal it back._

 _I'll never make friends doing things like that._

Essentially, those were the arguments going back and forth in my mind as we made our way up the front walkway to the door of Fred and George's house. Despite my preoccupation, I couldn't help but look up at the house in wonder. I wasn't sure what I had expected, but it hadn't been this. A tall, crooked, rickety house that looked like it was being supported by magic. It was unique, that was for sure. I liked it.

Fred and George pushed open the front door without knocking and called out for their mother. She replied from somewhere further in the house and the twins led the way in that direction while I looked all around me, remaining silent and observing everything from the homemade blankets on the couches, the fire in the fireplace, and the odd clock with nine hands instead of two.

We finally entered the kitchen, which was filled with the smells of delicious foods, and where a short, plump woman, also readheaded, stood by the stove. Fred and George's mother.

"I'm so glad you two are here," she said without turning around. "You're the last to arrive and lunch is almost ready. Everyone else is out back. I thought we'd eat out there today since we all fit better and the weather is nice. By the way, I-" She broke off as she turned around and saw me. She blinked in surprise.

"Mum, this is Sophie," George said, gesturing to me. "She's my girlfriend and she and Fred hate each other's guts."

Mrs. Weasley's eyebrows immediately shot up. Fred playfully punched his brother's shoulder as I blushed and vigorously shook my head.

"No, I'm just-I'm just-not his girlfriend," I said. "At all."

"Ouch," George commented vaguely, raising an eyebrow.

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips and shot her sons a look. "And I expect the hating Fred bit isn't true either?"

"No, that's true," George said, maintaining a straight face.

I kept quiet as Mrs. Weasley swatted him.

"Sophie's a silent hermit," Fred explained, walking over to the counter and hoisting himself onto it. He reached over to the fridge from his perch and opened it, peering in from the side before leaning over and grabbing a firewhiskey. Mrs. Weasley eyed him wearily and he rolled his eyess as he uncapped it with a tap of his wand. "I'll be fine. My prison warden slash therapist will be keeping a close eye on me." He gestured to George. "In fact, that's why Sophie's here. George hoped that she and I would talk about our feelings." He smiled sarcastically as he took a sip of his drink.

I fought the urge to run right back out the door just then. But the urge to make sure Mrs. Weasley didn't think I was insane was greater.

"I work at the Leaky Cauldron," I supplied. "That's where I met the twins. They, um...invited me today. They said it would be okay..."

Mrs. Weasley continued to look between the twins for a moment. She and George shared a knowing look while Fred glared at them. And then Mrs. Weasley turned to me with a smile. Although, her face and eyes looked almost as exhausted as the twins' did. Maybe even a bit more. I reminded myself that this woman had lost a son. Of course she'd look worn out.

"Molly Weasley," she said brightly, leaning in and actually hugging me. I had instantly stiffened and flinched, the swift motion startling me. She noticed and backed away. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've always been the type to give people hugs, even friends of my children that I've just met." She gestured to me as she laughed and shrugged. "I forget that sometimes people don't expect it or even want one."

"It's okay," I said hastily, giving her a fleeting smile as I awkwardly tugged my sleeves down over my hands. "It's lovely to meet you. You have a lovely home."

"Well it does suit us just fine," Mrs. Weasley said with a grin. "It's home."

I smiled and nodded as I looked at the twins, unsure of what to do next.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley continued, turning to the twins, "as I've said, everyone else is out back. Why don't you head on out? Food's almost done." She headed back for the stove and snagged Fred's drink from his hand as she went. "And I'll take that."

"Mum!" Fred protested, but Mrs. Weasley just shrugged and shooed him off the counter. Fred hopped off of his perch and headed for the back door, clearly in a sulky mood.

"Come on," George said, gesturing for me to follow. "Don't mind him," he added as we left through the back door and headed across the yard (which was huge, by the way. It seemed to go on forever, with no other houses in sight to even determine any boundaries).

I kept my mouth shut, determined to neither pry, nor reveal what I already knew about this family.

"To be honest," George went on, "I am hoping someone new will be good for him. Someone new to talk to who isn't a family member or close friend. He seems to be quite sick of us 'breathing down his neck'." He shrugged. "And as far as I've heard, you seem like you could use someone to talk to as well."

"You don't know anything about me," I said.

"No, I don't know much, you're right. But I do know you appeared out of nowhere and Tom and Martha took you in. And according to Rachel, you don't talk much or open up to anyone. You seem lonely, but afraid to make friends."

I frowned. I was beginning to wonder if the twins were just like everyone else. Prying into my life and trying to figure me out. And even worse, they were trying to fix me.

"I don't need fixing," I said. "I'm not broken."

"Didn't say you were," George said. "I just-I want to help my brother. He's had a tough year. We all have. And he already seems to like talking to you. Twice now I've discovered you two randomly engaged in conversation. Last night in Hogsmeade, and last week at the shop. And if he ends up helping you in the process, well it's a win-win, isn't it?"

"I guess," I shrugged. "But maybe you shouldn't make it so obvious that you're trying to help him. I don't think he likes it very much and don't you think it'll make him more likely to, I don't know, buck the system?"

George was quiet as he stared at me in slight surprise. "Maybe you're right," he said. "Fred's always been very stubborn like that. So have I for that matter."

I nodded, but didn't say anything else.

"So, it's settled," George said decidedly. "No mentioning to Fred that we're helping him."

"No, of course not," I said, looking at him in slight amusement. I decided not to mention the fact that George had used the word _we're_ , and I was under the impression that I hadn't agreed to anything as far as helping Fred was concerned.

We came to a stop as we reached a group of people gathered in the yard, close to a line of trees. The majority of them were redheads, but I noticed a blonde woman holding a baby, a girl with bushy brown hair, and none other than Harry Potter, his jet black hair sticking up haphazardly. One of the taller redheads, who had long hair, an earring, and a few long, thin scars across his face, was arranging a few tables together, while a man that looked as if he were Mrs. Weasley's husband arranged chairs around the tables. Fred had yet another redheaded boy-the one I'd seen with them at The Three Broomsticks-in a headlock, while the girl Rachel had told me was named Ginny stood watching them and laughing.

I stood there surveying the scene with wide eyes, and then, to my horror, George left my side and went to join his twin, patting the brother in the headlock on the shoulder as Fred released him. And now I was standing there alone on the sidelines, unsure of what to do next. Before I could talk myself into leaving (it would not have been a difficult task, believe me), the girl with bushy brown hair met my eyes and half smiled. I simply blinked back at her, but luckily it didn't seem to scare her off. In fact, she headed towards me.

"Hermione Granger," she said, holding out her hand. I stared down at it for a moment before reaching out and taking it.

"Sophie," I said. "Sophie McConnell."

"Nice to meet you," Hermione said. "You're friends with the twins?"

"I suppose I am," I shrugged.

"How did that happen?" she asked curiously. "I mean, you didn't go to school with us. Then again, the twins have always been naturals at making friends."

"I'm not even sure, to be honest," I answered. "It kind of just...happened." I looked over at Hermione to see her staring at me in thought. Sighing, I went on. "I kind of kept running into the twins. Fred mainly. Which meant we got to talking. And as for me coming here today, I'm not sure I had a choice. My coworker kind of set me up and George is holding something of mine captive for the time being."

Hermione was quiet and I began to shift from one foot to the other as I looked out at everyone. I could tell she was expecting me to elaborate, but in true fashion, I didn't.

"Fred and George never really had much tact," Hermione finally said.

"What?" I asked, looking at her quizzically.

"Neither does Ron, really," Hermione went on with a shrug. "If it weren't for Ginny, I'd say it was a trait that was used up on all the older siblings." She shrugged before looking at me. "They really should have introduced you to everyone instead of leaving you here. Their mother would kill them if she knew." She smiled and tilted her head towards the others. "Come on. It looks like I'll have to handle it. As usual."

She began to walk off and I had no choice but to follow her as she led me towards the blonde woman holding the baby, the redhead with an earring, and the man I'd assumed was Mr. Weasley. They were all standing in a group down near the head of the tables they'd just finished setting up, lost in conversation, but it seemed to stop as Hermione and I drew nearer.

"This is Sophie," Hermione stated. "She's Fred and George's friend."

"Arthur Weasley," the older man said with a jovial smile, reaching out a hand. I shook it and he continued to beam at me. "This is my son, Bill, his wife, Fleur and their daughter, Victoire." He gestured to the people standing beside him before reaching out and gently tickling the baby's arm with a finger.

"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking Bill and Fleur's hands as they offered them to me. I smiled at little Victiore. "She's beautiful."

"Takes after her Mum," Bill said, looking at Fleur with a loving grin as he put an arm around her shoulders.

"How old is she?" I asked, as Victoire rested her head against her mother's shoulder and peered at me wearily.

"She's two weeks," Fleur answered. She spoke with a French accent, which surprised me. So far, I was the only person I knew of that wasn't from around here. I wondered for a moment how she had ended up here, but then reminded myself that her story was most likely a lot more normal than mine.

"She was born on the one year anniversary of the battle of Hogwarts," Bill explained. "May second. That's how we chose her name. It means victory in French."

I nodded. "That's clever. And certainly unique. _My_ name's fairly common and according to my mother, she simply just thought it was beautiful."

"Nothing wrong with that," Bill shrugged.

"Sophie eez also a French name," Fleur pointed out. "Meaning wisdom."

"I didn't know that," I said with a smile.

"Fleur only knows what the meaning is because of all the research we did on names while she was pregnant," Bill pointed out. "We knew we wanted a French name, so we paid special attention to those. It wasn't until the day the baby was born that we finally decided on Victoire. She was born two days late, so it kind of just worked out well."

"Makes sense," I said, nodding.

"So how do you know Fred and George?" Bill asked curiously. "They've never mentioned you."

"We kind of just met," I said.

"Really," Bill said in interest. "And they've already brought you over to the Burrow. They must really like you."

I shrugged. _Not sure that's quite the reason_ , I thought.

"Do you visit their shop regularly?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Once," I replied. "Apparently, they're the ones visiting my job regularly. I work at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Ah," Mr. Weasley said. "Yes, we've all visited the Cauldron pretty frequently. Even stayed there for a night or two years ago...back in Ron's third year. Tom and Martha are great. Tell me, do you like working there?"

I nodded and shrugged one shoulder. "It earns me money. But you're right. Tom and Martha are great."

"Lovely people," Mr. Weasley said, nodding.

I smiled and chewed my lip, unsure of what else to say. Instead, the five of us stood there in awkward silence for a few seconds.

"Sophie is shy," a sudden voice bluntly announced from behind us. It was Fred. He had somehow gotten his hands on another firewhiskey and he grinned as he slung an arm around my shoulder, any trace of his earlier mood gone.

"Fred," I sighed, rolling my eyes and shooting him a look.

"You're doing fine," he murmured in my ear, patting my shoulder. "Holding your own and everything. Such a big girl." He chuckled and turned back to the others. "George and I thought we'd help Sophie here get out of her shell and make some new friends. She's still quite new here and doesn't really know anybody yet."

"What brings you to England anyway?" Mr. Weasley asked curiously.

I froze as my breath hitched. The dreaded question. Fred felt me stifen and looked at me quizzically. I ignored him as my face heated up, choosing instead to keep looking at his father.

"Just...wanted a new start," I said. "I didn't feel as if home was home anymore." I shrugged and hoped that answer was enough.

"But why here?" Mr. Weasley asked. "What drew you in?"

I bit my lip. "It was far away," I shrugged. "And I've always wanted to visit anyway." I refrained from saying that my mother's ancesters had come from here. The less I said about myself, the better, I thought.

Before Mr. Weasley could answer, we were interrupted by someone clearing their throat in annoyance. I turned to see Ginny standing there, her hands on her hips as she stared at Fred. Ron and Harry stood slightly behind her, sharing a look of amusement.

"When were you planning on introducing _me_ to your friend?" Ginny demanded.

"Never," Fred responded flatly, taking a sip of his drink.

"Ha, ha," Ginny said sarcastically.

"He's not lying," George said, joining the group as well. "If it were up to him, he'd never bring Sophie over. He just hates her that much."

"Sure seems like it," Ginny answered, gesturing to Fred's arm around my shoulders.

Fred cleared his throat and removed his arm. "Ginny, this is Sophie. Sophie, this is my little sister, Ginny." He shot Ginny a look. "Happy?"

She smiled and nodded before turning to me. "I've seen you before. At the Leaky Cauldron."

"You have?" I asked in surprise. I'd never noticed her. Then again, I usually tried to just mind my own business and do my job. Not a lot of time for noticing.

"A few times," Ginny shrugged. "You work there, don't you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I do."

Ginny stared at me for a few seconds before looking at Fred. "She doesn't say much."

Fred smiled and shook his head. "Woman of few words, this one. We're working on that."

I shot him a look and he simply shrugged. Just then, Mrs. Weasley bustled outside, levitating dishes in front of her and announcing dinner was ready. There was a scramble for the table as everyone hurried to find a seat. I hesitated as I watched the scene in awe. There were so many people, moving so quickly and all talking at once. I inhaled deeply through my nose as I slowly sunk into a seat between Ginny and Fred.

"What?" I asked, my cheeks heating up as I saw Fred looking at me in amusement.

"Nothing," he said slowly as a corner of his mouth turned up. "You're just...interesting is all."

"You've never seen a shy person before?"

Fred shrugged. "I've seen them. Just never hung out with one."

I stared at him, wanting to ask him why. Why me. What was so special about me that he wanted to spend time with me. And he kept saying he was trying to help me, but then what about what we talked about back in my room when we'd said this wasn't about us helping each other? It was confusing to say the least. But I didn't know how to say all that and I didn't want to do it now when any of his family members could overhear. Especially Ginny, who seemed to be studying me intently. I pointedly ignored her, instead choosing to focus on serving myself food as bowls were passed around the table.

"Did you get to meet Harry and Ron yet, Sophie?" Mr. Weasley asked, tilting his head to the two boys sitting on his right, directly across the table from me.

"No, not yet," I answered, swirling my fork through my mashed potatoes as I looked up at them. They were both staring at me curiously.

"Ron's our youngest son," Mr. Weasley said. "He and Harry are very good friends."

"Harry's also my boyfriend," Ginny chimed in as Harry snorted into his drink.

"We're aware," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"You promised you would keep your comments to yourself," Ginny shot back, pointing her fork at him.

"Did I say anything?" Ron asked. "I didn't say a word."

"Your eye roll said enough," Ginny answered.

"You'll have to excuse the bickering," Mrs. Weasley sighed, looking at me. "It comes with the territory of most siblings, but especially when you have so many of them." She shrugged. "But it is nice that they all have each other when they need someone."

I smiled slightly, getting the impression she was thinking of the difficult year they'd just been through, but kept my mouth shut. I couldn't let on that I knew what had happened.

"Do you have any siblings?" Ginny asked me.

I shook my head. "No, none."

"It's not all that," Ginny said. "There's no one to fight with that way. And I don't know about sisters, but brothers are gross and you have to be tough or else they'll try to beat you up."

"How often did we try to beat you up?" Bill laughed.

"Not often once I toughened up," Ginny pointed out. She turned to me and smiled. "They are really protective though. Almost annoyingly so. If anyone else tried to beat me up, they'd lose their minds. Every last one of them."

"Not that you'd need our help, though," Fred said. "I have to admit that you're right. You can hold your own. Your Bat Bogey Hex alone is insane."

"So are you saying you're giving us credit for being so tough?" George asked his sister. "Because I'd like to think that's what you're doing."

"I'm giving you credit for beating me up-and in your and Fred's case, pranking me to no end. Me learning to defend myself was all my own doing. In fact, I think Percy was the only one who minded his own business most of the time and came to my defense."

The table went eerily silent for a second, as if everything had stopped for a moment and there was a hitch in the flow of time before everthing came to life again. Fred flinched and looked down while Mrs. Weasley looked as if she were holding her breath. Mr. Weasley cleared his throat.

"We've _got_ to stop doing that," Ginny muttered. "He existed. He was part of this family. I want to talk about him and I want to talk about him without the world coming unhinged whenever someone says his name." She turned to me. "I'm assuming Fred didn't tell you."

"No, I didn't," Fred said through gritted teeth, his face a scowl and that dark cloud of a mood hanging over again, even darker than before. "And you'd best keep your mouth shut too."

"I can talk about it if I want to. You brought Sophie here. I like to talk about it and if I want to talk to her, I will. You can _not_ talk about it to her all you want, but since you brought her here, she might as well know."

"I didn't bring her here. George did," Fred said.

"You didn't seem too upset about it earlier with your arm around her," Ginny argued, leaning across me to look at Fred. I found myself holding my breath and sitting stiffly in my chair, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

"Will you be quiet?" Fred snapped loudly.

"Okay, enough!" Mr. Weasley said sternly.

Ginny turned back to me. "Our brother Percy died last May," she stated bluntly. "In the battle of Hogwarts. He was the third oldest, he was smart, and he could be a downright pompous pain in the ass a lot of the time, but he died saving Fred's life."

"I'm finished eating," Fred announced, slamming his fork down and standing up, tossing his napkin onto his chair. "I'm going for a walk." And with that, he marched further off into the yard, eventually disappearing into the line of trees.

"You know Fred's trying to move on, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said softly. "He doesn't like revisiting what happened."

"Moving on doesn't mean forgetting that Percy was even our brother to begin with," Ginny said. "He was a person who existed and we should treat him as such. Especially since he died doing something heroic."

"Yeah, saving Fred's life," Bill said, gently. "Think of how Fred feels. Cut him a break."

"It's been a year," Ginny said. "We're all healing. I know it's harder on Fred, but I think he should talk about it. That's his whole problem. He tries to ignore it and keep it all in and all that does is cause more problems."

"I think I'm going to go after him," George said quietly, standing up from his own chair.

"Yes, I suppose you'd better," Mrs. Weasley said. The anxious look on her face was enough to give away that not only was she worried about Fred, but she didn't trust him off on his own when he was this upset.

It took a little bit, but the conversation got moving again as I learned more about the Weasley family. They'd been here at the Burrow since Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gotten married nearly thirty years ago. Mr. Weasley worked at the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He loved Muggles-found them fascinating-and even had a shed where he tinkered with Muggle objects. Apparently there had also been a flying car, but that was now roaming the forest at Hogwarts thanks to Ron and Harry, who'd attempted to fly it to school one year. That story earned a huff from Mrs. Weasley, although the others found it quite funny.

I learned that Bill worked as a curse breaker for Gringott's, the wizard bank here. That was where he started to get to know Fleur, who had come here to improve her English (just as I had suspected, her reason for moving was a lot simpler and normal than mine).

The second oldest Weasley, Charlie, was in Romania working with dragons and couldn't get much time off to come home. I remembered Fred telling me that he was the one who'd liked Quidditch.

The twins obviously owned their own shop and, much to my surprise, had dropped out of school to open it.

"You mean Fred didn't tell you?" Ginny asked, noticing my expression.

I shook my head. "No."

"Well that's odd," Ginny said with a shrug. "Even if you two did just meet, that's one of Fred's favorite stories."

"Dropping out of school?" I asked curiously.

"Not quite the dropping out of school bit," Ginny said, "but the _way_ they dropped out of school. I mean, they don't regret doing it one bit, even though Mum nearly fainted when she found out. She already thought it was bad that they only got three OWLs each." She laughed.

"So how'd they do it?" I asked.

"Ask Fred to tell you when he cheers up a bit," Ginny suggested. "Or maybe it'll even help him cheer up." She shook her head thoughtfully, reminiscing of that day. "Honestly, it was incredible. People were talking about it for _days_."

By the time everyone was finished eating and had started busying themselves with cleaning up, Fred and George still weren't back. I stared off towards the trees as I stood from my seat and began gathering plates to bring inside.

"They'll be back eventually," Ginny assured me with a small smile.

"I didn't know how bad Fred really was," I told her quietly as we headed back towards the house, dirty dishes in each of our hands.

"If you think today was bad, you didn't see the worst of it all," Ginny said solemnly. "But that's Fred's story to tell you when he's ready. _If_ he's ready."

"You didn't seem to mind going off about other things he doesn't like talking about," Ron said as he and Harry passed us.

"If you're talking about what happened to Percy, then I have just as much right to talk about that as anyone else. He was my brother too and I can tell people about him if I want to. It's not a _secret_ , no matter how much Fred hates talking about it. How Fred dealt with it-and still deals with it-is his problem."

"Whatever," Ron shrugged as he and Harry led the way inside.

Once we were in the kitchen, I insisted on trying to help clean, but Mrs. Weasley shot me down.

"We have enough hands," she assured me. "And you're a guest."

"You can go get first pick of a broom if you'd like," Ginny said brightly.

"What?" I asked in confusion.

"For Quidditch," Ginny clarified. "Most of us play a game or two every Sunday. Did Fred leave that out too? It doesn't seem like you talk about much after all."

"George mentioned it," I said. I had completely forgotten about playing Quidditch today. My stomach was turning into a puddle of nerves again. This was definitely not the typical family dinner I'd been expecting. Then again, I'm not entirely sure what I had been expecting. A bunch of people laughing around a table without a care in the world? Did families like that exist? I supposed everyone had their own problems, especially wizarding families around here who had just been through a war.

Ginny smiled. "The broom shed is out front and to the left. Go through the living room and out the front door." She gestured with her chin. "Oh, and don't pick the broom with the red string tied around the end. It's Fred's. Sort of. He has his own at his place, but he insists on using that one in the shed every time he's here. It's not exactly fair, and normally I'd tell you to take it on purpose, but we're not supposed to 'purposely rile Fred'." She made quote marks in the air.

"Something you keep forgetting," Mrs. Weasley sighed.

Ginny shrugged and turned back to washing the dishes as I stood where I was in silence for a moment. I turned to look towards the living room before glancing back towards the others. And then I made my way into the next room, if anything to have something to do with myself.

In the living room, I found myself pausing at the mantle, gazing at all the family photos gathered on top. One of the twins on opening day of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. One of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all around the ageo f thirteen or foureen. One of a young Ginny with her two front teeth missing.

I stopped at a photo of a redheaded boy around seventeen. He had glasses and wavy hair (red, of course), and was wearing a shiny gold badge on the front of his robes. _Head Boy_ , the badge read. The boy had a proud smile on his face and was sticking his chest out to make the badge even more noticeable. I remembered Ginny saying that Percy could sometimes be pompous. This had to be him. He was the only Weasley I hadn't met yet besides Charlie, and something told me that the boy in this picture was not the type to be working with dragons in Romania.

My eyes suddenly shifted to the clock. The odd one I'd seen on my way in that had nine hands. Up close, I could see that each hand had a moving, smiling photo of one of the Weasley's on the end. Down the handles, their names were inscribed in cursive. And instead of the face of the clock containing numbers, it depicted places. Currently, seven of the hands pointed to _home_. One of them-Charlie's-pointed to _work_. And then there was Percy's. Pointing at _mortal peril_. Well, _shit_. That was cheerful.

I squinted a bit as I leaned closer to inspect Percy's picture on the end of the clock hand. He was smiling here-genuinely. He didn't seem as serious as he did in the other photo. The resemblance to his mother in the clock picture was way more pronounced. But this proved that I had been right. The photo of the boy wearing the badge was Percy.

I turned back to said photo and studied it. I studied his face-the moving photo depicting his mouth turning up into a small, proud, half-smile before returning to a serious expression. So this was Percy Weasley. the boy who may have saved Fred's life, but apparently had really messed him up in doing so. I couldn't look away from the photo. Looking at it felt eerie, but I couldn't for the life of me tear my eyes away.

"Pompous git, isn't he?" a voice asked from behind me.

I jumped and turned towards the front door to see Fred standing there. And he was dripping wet.

"Uh..." I began, more of a reaction to his appearance than a response to his question. I looked him up in down in concern and confusion, but he ignored it as he squelched towards me, dripping water everywhere in the process. He stood beside me and stared at the photo, his jaw set.

"George and I changed that badge to read so many offensive things. Bighead Boy was the go-to. Humungous Bighead was another, as well as Humungous Backside." He shook his head as he stared aimlessly at the photo, lost in thought. I stared at him in silence, waiting for him to go on. And finally he did, turning to the clock as he did so. "That's been like that for over a year now," he said, pointing to Percy's hand on _mortal peril_. "Even before the battle...All of our hands went to mortal peril for a bit because we were all constantly in so much danger. But this one," he lightly flicked Percy's, "never moved again." He turned to me. "I broke it off last year. Snapped it right off the clock and flung it clear across the room. But as you can see, Mum fixed it."

I stared at him in surprise, slightly open mouthed.

"Nothing to say, huh?" Fred asked with a scoff. "As usual." He turned and started for the stairs.

"Fred," I called after him. "I'm just...processing."

He nodded as he turned towards me. "Sure. But even afterwards, were you planning on saying anything?" He shrugged. "Whatever. It doesn't matter." There was a pause. "You know, I thought you might end up being the one person I knew who I could avoid getting the sympathy look from. The pity look. I thought you'd be the one person who I could count on not treating me like I'm brittle."

"You have no idea what I would or wouldn't do," I said quietly. "Besides, I didn't ask for this information."

"That's another reason I didn't want to bring you around," Fred went on. "I knew you'd find out. I didn't want my family to assume things and I didn't want you to hear anything yet. I don't even know why I caved." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "George doesn't even know what he's _talking_ about. He's got this idea in his head that you can help me, but even _he_ can't help me. And believe it or not, you not knowing about my past _was_ a help. And now it's ruined. But you know what else? You can't help me if you barely _speak_." And with that, he turned and marched up the rickety staircase, taking them two at a time.

"He doesn't mean that," another voice said from behind me. I turned to see George standing there, also soaking wet. "You'll have to excuse him."

"Why are you both soaking wet?" I asked. "Do you normally go swimming in your clothes when you visit your family?"

George sent me a wry smile before it quickly faded. "Fred jumped into the pond behind the house. I had to go in and get him."

I blinked. "Why?"

George sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "He hasn't done it in a while, but for a while, after the battle and after he was out of St. Mungo's, he'd say he was going for a swim. And he'd just go into the pond, swim around for a bit, and then go underwater and hold his breath. He'd test his limits every time, holding his breath as long as he could. The first time I saw him do it, I panicked, thinking for sure he'd died. I jumped in and pulled him right out. But I couldn't stop him from going back in. At least not right away. He kept sneaking back, managing to hold his breath for longer and longer each time. I'm not sure he was purposely trying to die, but he certainly didn't care if he did."

"What made him finally quit it?" I asked.

"Mum put a charm around the entire pond. Wouldn't let him in. And it also set off an alarm if he got too close, alerting someone that he was out there."

Goosebumps had popped up all over my arms and I sunk down into a chair. "And he just tried to do it again now?" I asked, looking up at George. "Because of me?"

"No, not because of you," George said.

"He's upset because Ginny told me about Percy," I argued. "He didn't want me to know." I paused. "Except...I did already know. I just didn't say anything. Rachel told me last night at the Three Broomsticks. I didn't even really want her to. I tried to stop her, but..." I trailed off and sighed. "I thought maybe it'd be better if Fred knew I knew, but now I'm not sure." I looked up at George. "I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't _want_ any of this. I feel for Fred. All of you, really. And that's the thing...I have my own stuff to deal with without having to worry about helping Fred and worrying about what he does or doesn't want me to know."

George swallowed and looked at me before letting out a bitter laugh and running a hand through his wet hair. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it was a mistake to bring you here." It was quiet for a moment. "I'm going to go get cleaned up and check on Fred."

And then just like that, he was gone, leaving me sitting in the living room alone.


	7. Chapter 7

_March 6th, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts._

 _It's been four days since my last entry. In that entry, I confessed in writing my fears that a witch hunt would soon begin in Salem. Mary Warren, our family servant, was claiming to have been attacked by Giles Corey's spirit projection. Now, two of the other girls in town are joining in the accusations. Abigail Williams accused Mr. Samuel Parris' slave, Tituba, of witcraft. Only because Samuel's daughter has fallen ill. Abigail claims that Tituba forced she and young Miss Betty Parris to participate in the 'devil's work' and that is the reason for Betty's illness. Honestly, Tituba wouldn't think to touch either of those girls, even though most of us have wished to at times. Even myself, regrettably. I know it is a sin to think such things, but to be fair, Abigail is very difficult to get along with. If she hadn't been traipsing through the woods looking for trouble, she would not have seen Tituba practicing her magic. Abigail has never had reason to go into the woods before-usually her parents do not allow it, but clearly they have let this slide in light of recent event. Unbelievable, if you ask me._

 _Poor Tituba, in an act of panic and fear and in an attempt to save herself, admitted to everything. She was told that if she admitted to it, she'd be spared from execution. She was told that then her fate would be in God's hands, not the hands of the people. Just as long as she confessed. She has also given a few names of others in town, accusing them of witchcraft. One of the names was Sarah Good. I consider Sarah a dear friend and I may be the only one in town to do so. Most just turn her away and scoff at her, refusing to give her work or money or food. Most days-when I am able, of course-I sneak her inside the house and we have a bit to eat while we talk and enjoy each other's company. She usually has her four year old child, Dorothy, with her. We have become very good friends. And now dear Sarah has been arrested, leaving her daughter and husband alone, and still very much homeless, starving and lonely._

 _I told Sarah she had to be nicer to people who did not want to give her any help. She did have a bad habit of muttering under her breath and sending glares towards people who refused to help. I told her that would not do any good for her. Besides now working against her and making her an easy accusal, it just does not do to appear that hostile towards our neighbors. Despite her having all the reason to. I have always been the one trying to remind everyone to lay low for these exact reasons. If anyone notices anything odd, it could be used against us. And now it is. But I cannot ask everyone to stop doing magic altogether. It is not healthy. It is clear that nowhere is safe anymore. I have done all I can to keep attention away from myself and my family, especially negative attention. I am kind, I am pleasant, I am friendly. I do not cause trouble with anyone. And I practice my magic in a secret space, covered with heavy charms. I cannot say where, in case this diary falls into the wrong hands. The only reason I have not told anyone about it is because only family-family by blood, that is-can get in. Not even my husband can get in, which pains me, not being able to share it with him. He is my husband, after all. But my grandmother was the one who put up the charms and not even I am unsure how to change them. Besides, in the light of recent events-if they were to come for John or me and torture us or promise freedom if we tell everything we know, well, the less people who know, the better. I keep this diary there to help protect it and all my secrets. If anyone were to find it, I would be done for. It does contain a confession-meaning I'd be spared from execution. But it would also mean I should have to give out names. Names of my friends. And I refuse to betray them like that._

 _For now, I just have to pray that nobody should come to my door with a warrant for my arrest. Can you imagine that? Arrested for being who you are? Arrested for something out of your control? I hardly dare to believe it myself, but here we are. I pray that one day, us magical folk will not have to live in fear. I hope for change. I may not live to see it, but I hope for it. For the safety of my friends and the future generations of witches._

I closed the diary and sat back into my pillows, rubbing my tired eyes as I did so. Goosebumps were covering my arms, and even my legs. What had happened to this woman? I supposed I would have to keep reading to find out, but I wasn't sure if I could take more than one entry at a time. This was eerie stuff. Not to mention grim. And it was all true. This had all _happened._ Poor Elizabeth. And poor Sarah. I could hardly imagine what she had experienced in the jail. The others that had been arrested as well.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I thought over the entry I had just read. Elizabeth had written that she had kept the diary in a secret room only accessible to blood relatives. Which meant that either a blood relative had gone in and stolen it, or Elizabeth had had it on her and it had been passed from person to person that way. Or maybe someone had figured out how to break into her secret room. I hated to think of any of those options. I hated to think of what happened to her. But part of me was also curious to find out.

And not to mention, I was still worried about the person who'd brought me this diary. Was it a blood relative of Elizabeth's that had had it before me? Had it been stolen? And why would they pass it on to me, whoever it was? Was someone following me? For good or bad reasons? A man or a woman? I had no answers and I'd witnessed nothing else out of the ordinary since I'd found the diary.

George, true to his word, despite his dampened mood from the evening, had given the diary back to me once we'd returned to the Leaky Cauldron Sunday night. And it had gone right back into my closet until now-Thursday evening. Or, technically Friday morning, I thought as I glanced at my watch and saw that it was half past midnight. I stared aimlessly at the wall as I realized that Friday meant that the twins would be coming to the Leaky Cauldron later.

I hadn't seen them since Sunday and I was unsure where we stood. I was anxious about seeing them. Would they talk to me or ignore me? Would they be in a good mood or a bad mood? How was Fred doing? And more than that, why did I care about what they would think or if they'd talk to me? Shouldn't I be hoping they wouldn't? It's what I'd wanted when I had come here, hadn't it? To stay low, fly under the radar and leave once I had enough money? The fact that I was so worried about our relationship was throwing me off more than I had intended.

The rest of the time at the Burrow on Sunday had been odd to say the least. We hadn't left early, but I almost wanted to. Things were tense between the twins and I afterwards and I found myself staying close to Ginny and Hermione. But despite that and despite the fact that I'd been telling the truth when I'd said that I had a lot of stuff of my own to deal with, I'd been thinking about Fred a lot since Sunday. I hadn't lost a sibling, but I had dealt with loss in general, as well as some other pretty terrible things. I'd never tried to hold my breath as long as I could underwater, but a few times I'd done some pretty adrenaline inducing stuff-tempting fate, almost. Not actively trying to die, but not caring if I did. And wasn't that exactly what Fred was doing every time he went in that pond? Tempting fate?

And of course, I'd made the mistake of telling Rachel that things hadn't gone all that well at the Burrow. I hadn't given her exact details-I certainly was not going to gossip about Fred's well being-but I'd essentially said I'd been told about Percy and that Fred hadn't been too happy about it. I'd also said I wasn't sure if he hated me now or not, which made me fear that she'd say something to them if she saw them at work. That was the last thing I needed.

Rolling over onto my side, I gazed through the window beside my bed that overlooked the alley. I couldn't see the joke shop from the position I was in, but it was in that direction. What was it that was drawing me to Fred even more now than when I'd first met him? Our similarities? Perhaps. Because I still was not looking to help fix him. I didn't even know if I could. But I was curious-I'd always been that way. Curious about everything. Eager to learn. I was curious about who Fred was-and who he'd been before the war. It saddened me to think that someone who was probably so full of life-he did own a joke shop after all-was harboring so much pain, despite his efforts to hide it and distract himself.

It was all I could think about, and needless to say, I did not get much sleep that night. Working the next day was going to be a blast.

* * *

"They're here," Rachel informed me around eight thirty on Friday night as she appeared beside me in the kitchen. I was depositing a stack of dirty dishes into the sink and I was also sweaty and messy. My hair was falling out and wisps of it were framing my face. I had a mystery blob of something swiped across my forearm and my clothes and hair probably smelled of food.

"Who's here?" I asked vaguely, playing dumb as I fiddled with the dishrag in my hands.

"You know who," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Funny, I thought he was dead," I answered, turning back to the sink.

"Ha," Rachel laughed. "Now is _not_ the time for your sense of humor. Normally, I'd welcome it from someone as shy as you, but not now. Now, you need to get yourself out there and talk to them!"

"No!" I hissed. "I have a job to do. If I don't do it properly, Tom and Martha will kick me out."

"No they will not," Rachel hissed back. "Don't be so dramatic." When I didn't answer, she went on. "You have to go out there to do your job anyway. At least do that and then see if they say anything to you. If they don't, you have to go talk to them. You can do it on your break if you'd like."

"You just have all the answers, don't you?" I asked, turning to look at her with raised eyebrows.

"Mhm!" she said brightly, nodding and flashing me a smile. "Now go, there are tables to be cleaned and boys to be talked to!" And with that she shooed me out the kitchen door.

I propped my empty bin for dirty dishes against my hip as I made a beeline for the first dirty table I saw, without even bothering to look around the room for the twins. If I avoided them completely, I wouldn't have to talk to them. I also assumed they were sitting at the bar-hopefully-which would be good because it would mean they'd have their backs to me most of the time and I wouldn't have to clean a table beside them either.

I made my way around the restaurant, cleaning table after table as they became empty, never raising my eyes to look at anyone. Lay low, avoid people, especially the twins. It was time to go back to my original plan of being invisible, making enough money to get on my feet and then keep moving. I couldn't do that if I got too wrapped up in other people's business anyway. I couldn't do that if I got attached to people. The longer I worked, lost in my own thoughts, the more I was able to convince myself of that.

By the time my break came, I was exhausted. My feet hurt, as they typically did from standing for so long, and in addition, I had fallen asleep late last night so I was now about ready to collapse. I knew if I took my break inside, Rachel would find me and tell me to go talk to the twins. Besides, I needed some peace and quiet and time to just _sit_. So I grabbed some water from the kitchen and went out the back door to the alleyway. I always made a point to come out to the back alley when I wanted some peace and quiet. If I went to the side one, I chanced people coming through to go to Diagon Alley. The one I frequented was only accessible by the kitchens.

I lowered myself to the ground against the wall on the opposite side of the alley and closed my eyes as I rested my head against the wall. I had thirty minutes to enjoy the quiet before I had to go back inside and endure another two hours of work and avoiding the twins (also hard work). But with any luck they'd have already left by the time I got back inside.

After five peaceful minutes had flown by, I heard the door open and fought the urge to groan. I didn't need or want to interact with anyone right now. But if it were another co-worker looking to take their break out here, I couldn't necessarily stop them. Or even blame them for that matter. Despite being a dark alleyway, and despite the trash cans, it was probably the only quiet place to take a break. Besides the flat, I guess. But if I had gone up there, I would've ended up falling asleep on the couch. I definitely wasn't about to have that problem sitting on the ground up against a stone wall.

"Hey," a familiar voice suddenly said. "You alive?"

My eyes flew open and I saw Fred leaning against the doorframe, a drink in his hand. I simply stared at him, expressionless. He was the one who had gotten upset with me. He was the one who was upset that I knew about Percy. So why was he still talking to me? Besides that, how had he gotten out here? He just thought he was allowed to walk through the kitchens?

"Ah, good," he went on as he ambled over and lowered himself to the ground beside me. I continued to stare at him blankly. I was confused, tired, and a little angry. What did he even think he was doing? If he didn't want to talk to me, why couldn't he leave me alone? It would be easier for both of us.

"Busy in there, isn't it?" Fred went on, taking a sip of his drink as he stared across the alley at the door to the pub. "Then again, it always is on Fridays." He turned and saw me looking at him in exasperation. He chuckled and gave me a tiny smile before he began studying me, taking in my tired, dirty appearance. "You look like you've been having a tough night."

I stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. After a second, Fred went on. "You okay? Normally you not saying anything isn't cause for a red flag, but you're staring at me as if I have ten heads."

"You might as well," I shrugged, looking away. "I guess I'm talking to the friendly head today, yeah? As opposed to the one who snaps at me for being quiet?" I raised an eyebrow. "The one who's mad that information that I didn't ask for was handed to me without much of a warning?"

"That's not why I snapped at you," Fred said quietly.

I let out a quiet sigh and closed my eyes. "I know. Fred, look, I get it. I don't blame you for-"

"No, I owe you an apology," he said. "In fact, that's why I came out here to talk to you."

"Yeah?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry you had to get that information dumped on you and then had to deal with me being a sullen, moody nutter. It's not the image I like to portray to people, especially people I've just met." He shrugged and took a sip of his drink before inhaling deeply and turning to me. "So...yes, my brother died saving my life. Yes, it's left me pretty screwed up. Yes, I used to jump into the pond and hold my breath as long as I could and yes I did it again last weekend because I couldn't handle you finding out so soon-and I couldn't handle that I couldn't tell you myself and on my own terms. I was angry and frustrated and like I said, I'm still pretty messed up. And I took it out on you. I'm sorry." He reached out and put a hand on my knee. I instinctively stiffened, but he didn't seem to notice.

I stared down at his hand on my knee for a moment before looking up at him seriously. "I have a confession to make." I swallowed thickly. "I found out about Percy before I went to your house. I found out last Saturday, actually. The night I saw you at The Three Broomsticks. I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I didn't even want to find out in the first place-but once I knew...I still thought you should have the chance to tell me on your own terms. Which apparently didn't even happen anyway."

Fred let out a deep sigh and took his hand off my knee, rubbing it over his face instead. "Let me guess-Rachel told you?"

I nodded. "I tried to stop her, but..." I trailed off and shrugged. "I don't think she had bad intentions, though."

"No, I don't think so either," Fred said. "She's nice, but she and her friends do like to gossip. And I get it-people talk. I just...wish they wouldn't."

"I know," I whispered, staring down at my hands. "Trust me, I know. In any case, I'm sorry. About everything."

"Thanks," Fred said quietly.

"And for the record," I went on, "I never gave you a pity look. You said that was one of the reasons you didn't want me to know. You didn't want me to give you a look of pity. I knew about Percy Saturday night and you never caught on, so I must not have been giving you any kind of look. I mean, like I said, I _am_ sorry he's dead and I'm sorry you're suffering. I don't wish that kind of pain on people. But...I don't plan on treating you like a charity case. I don't want to make things worse for you when you're just trying to move on."

Fred blinked at me in awe, his jaw slack. Ignoring him, I plowed on. "That being said, you should know that you don't have to forget your brother or not talk about him. If you can't right now, then you can't. Take your time. But don't forget him. It's not going to do you any good. And if I overstep or do something that sets you off, you can tell me. I may be reserved and closed off, but I can handle people telling me to back off."

Fred swallowed and then seemed to compose himself. "I think this is the most you've talked to me since we've met. You know, I don't think shyness is quite your problem."

"No?" I asked.

Fred shook his head. "I think you're _quiet_ , sure, but there's a difference between quiet and shy. You talk to people just fine once you get going. It just takes some loosening up. And a discussion topic that's not yourself." He shrugged. "So you're quiet and, as you've said, closed off. Not so much _shy_. I don't think a shy person would come right out and tell me the stuff you told me. About the pity look and not treating me like a charity case."

"It was honesty," I said. "Shy people can be honest."

"Yeah, but like I said, if you were as shy as you seem to think you are, I'm not sure you would've told me that. You still don't know me that well."

I shrugged and looked down at the ground, avoiding eye contact. "I just wanted you to know that you were wrong about me. I didn't feel as if your frustration was justified and I wanted to clear it up. Knowing about Percy didn't change the way I saw you."

"And how was that?" Fred asked. "How did you see me?"

I let a puff of air out of my mouth. "To be honest...at first I was a bit weary of how talkative you were and I couldn't make sense of you and George. You would joke with me, but without actually making fun of me. I felt awkward at times, but I liked talking to you. And...I could tell when I first met you that you'd been through something. A part of you just seemed...tired. But besides that, you were still a friendly, intelligent, kindhearted person who wasn't afraid to stick up for a total stranger when a group of jerks disrespected her." I gave him a timid half smile. "No one's ever done something like that for me before."

"They're more than jerks," Fred said. "They're utter _baboons_."

I giggled. "In any case, I know how you feel. I know what it's like not wanting people to see you a certain way. To think you're _that_ person. The person with a dead brother. Or whatever the case may be." I shrugged. "I'm pretty secretive myself."

"I've noticed," Fred said. "I think everyone has." He studied me seriously for a moment. "You know how you said you could tell when you met me that I'd been through something? Well, maybe I felt- _feel_ -the same about you. My theory is that not only are you more closed off and reserved than shy, but something in your life has made you this way. Something made you put up ten foot brick walls, topped off with barbed wire. You don't want people's pity either, same as me. And you don't have to feel obligated to share anything if you don't want to. But on the same token, if you're going to be so honest with me, you should at least _consider_ letting me do the same for you."

I looked at him in slight surprise. "Thanks," I said. "Noted. But I think my story's a little more lengthy than yours. More complicated. Messier."

"Are you in trouble with the law?" Fred asked curiously, raising an eyebrow. "I think I at least deserve the right to know if I'm befriending a fugitive."

I half-smiled as I tried to ignore the feeling of happiness spreading through me at the use of the word _befriending_. "No, no trouble with the law."

"Good," Fred said.

I stared at him for a moment before standing up and stretching. "Well, my half an hour's pretty much up. I've got to get back to work."

"That went by fast," Fred commented, standing up beside me.

"It always does," I answered with a wry smile. I headed for the door and pulled it open. Fred followed me inside and we both hesitated at the door.

"I meant to ask you," I began. "Why did you come out to the back alley?"

"To find you," Fred said simply. "I told you I wanted to apologize. I've been trying to get your attention all night, but it was hard to even make eye contact. You refused to look up from what you were doing. So I had to take matters into my own hands."

"Did you _ask_ to walk through the entire kitchen?" I asked. "An area strictly for employees?"

"No," Fred said with a shrug. "I just walked through. Kyle sent me a look, and I told him I was leaving. Then I walked through the back door to the alley."

The two of us looked over at Kyle now, who was busy cooking away, but staring at us with raised eyebrows.

"Come on, Weasley," he called out. "Get out of here. Don't get sweet, innocent Sophie into trouble by being where you shouldn't."

"No, of course not," Fred said, bowing slightly at me. I rolled my eyes.

"So, I guess I'll see you around then?" Fred asked with a smile.

"Probably," I answered. "We are neighbors after all."

Fred chuckled. "True," he said.

I gave him a fleeting smile before looking away as I fiddled with my shirt. "So...yeah. See you around," I said, grabbing a dishrag and a bucket of soapy water. I gave Fred a single tiny wave before I disappeared.

* * *

 **A/N: Just out of curiosity, is there anything anyone would like to see in this story? Or does anyone have any suggestions for improvement? I haven't gotten much feedback, which is only concerning because I'm not sure if that means people aren't interested in the story or if there's just been some kind of lull in readers on the site. So if anyone does have any suggestions/feedback/constructive criticism it would be very appreciated, just so I can know how I'm doing and improve! Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

_The sound of my own screams continued to ring in my ears as I ran through the woods, my breath_ _coming in short gasps. I tried to push branches out_ _of my face as I ran, but I almost couldn't keep up_. _My arms, legs and face were getting scraped, but I barely felt it. The pain was nothing compared to the pain in the rest of my body, especially my back. I also had no idea how I was able to walk, much less run right now. Pure adrenaline, I figured._

 _I would have Apparated, but I was afraid in my current state. I was scared, unfocused and not to mention injured_.

 _I only ran for another five minutes before stopping, collapsing to my knees as I gasped for breath. I fell on all fours, shaking as I tried to calm myself down so that I could Apparate. Breathe, breathe, breathe, I thought. Over and over. Breathe, breathe breathe. I unsteadily pushed myself to my feet as the_ _skin on my back stung wildly. Breathe, breathe, breathe._

 _I stumbled forward as the wind whistled through the trees, almost sounding like whispers. I whimpered and looked over my shoulder, one after the other as I jumped slightly. He had come after me. He was gaining on me. I could have sworn I heard the leaves crunching behind me. Twigs snapping._

 _I began to run, stumbling every few feet and trying not to twist my ankle. Twigs and branches continued to scrape at my arms and snag my already torn clothes. I was bleeding from multiple scrapes, scratches and gashes on my body. My breath was coming in gasps and the sound of the blood in my veins was crashing in my ears like ocean waves._

 _The faster I ran, the more the branches seemed to scrape at me, the more they seemed to reach for me like skinny, dead arms. The faster I ran, the more I thought I heard whispering. The faster I ran, the more I thought I heard footsteps. The faster I ran, the more I thought I saw shadows through the trees._

 _And then I tripped and pitched forward, crashing down onto my stomach and getting the wind knocked out of me. I grunted in pain and rolled onto my back as the footsteps grew louder, pounding in my head along with my rushing blood. I saw shadows, heard movement and saw the glint of a silver knife. I screamed._

And then I sat bolt upright in bed, free from my nightmare, but still screaming.

* * *

"Breathe, darling, breathe." Martha's face swam in front of me as I squinted in the sudden light filling my room. I felt the edge of the bed sink a bit as she sat down. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly." I continued to gasp for air for a second before following her instructions and taking in one slow breath after another.

Martha had been doing this for me almost every time I'd had a nightmare. In the seven weeks I'd been here, I'd had a fair few. The first week, I'd had one a night. And now I'd gone down to maybe about two or three a week. It was horrible and embarrassing, still as much now as it had been seven weeks ago. Tom and Martha had been horrified at first, running into my room in extreme alarm. They'd probably thought someone had broken in or something. But no, it was just me and my dumb, unshakeable nightmares.

"You're okay, you're safe," Martha told me gently as she shifted my hair off of my forehead. "You can't be touched here."

I looked at her and nodded, but my eyes were still filled with terror. I knew they had charms up around the building to protect against break-ins and theft. What with so many people in and out, Tom and Martha wanted not only their lives and things to be protected, but also those of their guests staying on the floors below. And, I suppose mine too.

And yet, that didn't stop a part of me from being terrified.

Tom came in just then with a mug of hot tea. That had quickly become his thing when I had a nightmare. The first night he'd been so shaken and on edge that he had to do something to calm down when he realized nobody was in immediate danger. And since he had no idea where to begin on comforting me-at least to my face, he had gone to make me some tea, his own way of helping and occupying himself. And it had become his go-to duty ever since.

"Thanks," I said with a tired sigh as I took the mug and cradled it in my hands.

"Was your nightmare the same as the others?" Martha asked gently.

I nodded as I took a sip of my tea, letting it warm my insides. "Yeah, it was the night I ran away from where I used to live, but my mind always makes it ten times worse in the dream. It was bad enough to live through and it's bad enough that I relive that moment in my dreams, but to have it be worse...And in the dream, I always get caught up to. I'm always found. I don't escape."

"The good news is that in reality you did escape," Martha assured me. "And that part of your life is over. You're here now and we want you to stay as long as you want. Forever, if you'd like."

"I can't," I whispered, shaking my head. "I can't be in one place for too long. For my safety and yours."

"You said you didn't think you'd be followed," Tom said.

"I didn't-don't-think so," I told him. But then my mind flashed to the diary. Someone had followed me here-or at the very least found me. Even if it wasn't my old family. "I just can't be too careful. I know you worry about the business and yourselves, and so do I. I never wanted to put you in any kind of danger."

"We know that," Martha said reassuringly.

There was a long silence as Martha gingerly reached for my arm and when I didn't pull away, she gently began rubbing her hand up and down my skin. I watched her, almost hypnotized by the back and forth motion. I thought back to the first nightmare I'd had. After Martha had gotten over her initial shock and realized I was having a bad dream, she'd immediately rushed over to comfort me. But the second she reached out for me, I had yelped and twisted away before cowering at the head of my bed, shaking like a leaf and crying.

"I think you like it here," Martha said, her eyes searching my face. "It seems as if you're at least starting to trust us a lot more." She gently tapped a finger against my arm twice as she rubbed it and I looked up to see her smiling slightly. It was as if she had been reading my mind and remembering that first nightmare as well.

Tom suddenly cleared his throat. "If that bastard of a foster father does track you down," he said, "I'm going to wring his neck."

I smiled slightly. Tom had never exactly been the warm and fuzzy type and he didn't always seem to know how to express how much he cared about someone, so him saying what he had said was almost his way of saying he cared for me.

"I appreciate that, Tom. Really," I said.

"Do you think you need anything else?" Martha asked.

I shook my head. "No, the tea was enough. Thank you. I'll be fine."

Martha gave me one last comforting smile before she stood up and headed for the door. Tom let her pass first before he turned back to me. "If you need anything..." He cleared his throat.

"I know. Thanks," I said.

He nodded once before shutting the door with a click. I finished my tea before making myself comfortable in my bed again, lying on my side and pulling the blankets up to my chin. I lay there facing the closet and practically staring a hole through the door in the spot where I knew the diary lay. Through the wood and beneath a few pairs of shoes just in case someone looked inside.

Reading the stupid thing had made me curious, sure, but it was also a reminder that some bit of my past had followed me here. I didn't know how or why or if I was in any danger or not. Which was why I partly wanted to get out. But the savings I'd put away in the past month wouldn't get me far. I'd be back where I'd started seven weeks ago in no time. And, I realized, as my eyes began to feel heavy with sleep again, I had a real, live home for the first time in a long time and I was getting very, very used to it very, very fast.

* * *

"I've got this table, don't worry about it."

I stared at Noah quizzically as he cut me off, sliding into the booth on his knees and smiled at me before waving his wand and magically sending the dirty dishware floating into his bin. And then he started wiping down the table.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's one table," he chuckled. "No big deal. Besides, you're always cleaning tables like some sort of maniac. I've got to keep up somehow."

I bit my lip as I stared at him. "Well...thanks."

It was Wednesday night, only five days after my talk with Fred out in the alley. I'd been thinking about our talk ever since it had happened. How he'd finally come out and said everything he was going through himself-despite me already knowing it all. He hadn't gone into detail but he'd said it. And I kept thinking about how he had been able to tell that I'd been hiding a difficult past just from looking at me-the same as I'd been able to do with him.

Was I really that obvious? I figured maybe I was. I was reserved and extremely private. I didn't talk much to anyone and always kept my nose down, focusing myself on work. I didn't even laugh or smile all that much. In fact, nearly all the times I had since I'd been here had been with Fred.

"Earth to Sophie!"

I snapped out of my trance and blinked to see Noah standing in front of me. He'd finished cleaning the table while I'd ben standing there lost in thought the whole time. Great. I really was a basket case.

"Sorry...spaced out for a minute," I said.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyebrows coming together in concern as he balanced his bin of dirty dishes against his side.

I nodded. "Just tired."

"You work a lot," he said, nodding. "And you work hard. I'd be tired too."

I nodded my head in agreement. Sure, there was that, but there was also the fact that I frequently had my sleep interrupted by nightmares. But I wasn't about to tell Noah that.

"I think Kyle's probably waiting to close down the kitchen," I finally said. "We should get the dirty dishes back there."

Noah nodded in agreement. "Hey, wait," he said, catching up to me as I turned and started to walk towards the kitchen.

"Yes?" I asked, my heart rate suddenly spiking. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been purposely avoiding being alone with Noah since the night at the Three Broomsticks when he'd tried to ask me out. I hated the thought of having to formulate a rejection, but I also hated having to reject him at all.

Noah cleared his throat. "Would you like to...maybe go get a drink sometime?"

I stopped and turned towards him, biting my lip slightly as I thought about what to say.

"I know we don't know much about each other-but that's why I'm asking you. Even though we work together, I don't think we get a lot of time to talk-next to none actually. So I just thought we could get to know each other a bit more."

I blinked at him before raising an eyebrow. "So to clarify...this is not a date, is it? You're asking me as, well, co-workers, yes? In the hopes of becoming friends?"

He hesitated a bit. "Sure," he said. "Why, did you want it to be a date?"

I shook my head. "No. Sorry but I cannot handle dating right now." I paused. "Look...I really don't like sharing a lot about my life. Especially since I'm not sure how long I'll be here for."

"You're thinking of leaving?" Noah asked in surprise.

"That was always the plan. I'm trying to get my life in order."

"And there's no room to take a break? Get drinks with a guy from work? That night at the Three Broomsticks was that traumatizing for you, huh? I didn't realize the group of us were that terrifying." He smiled.

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth did turn up slightly. "I don't drink," I told him. "Not much anyway."

"I noticed, actually," he said. "Bad experience with alcohol?"

I stared at him for a second. "A few," I finally admitted.

"Understood," Noah said. "And I respect that." He started walking back towards the kitchen again.

"You do," I stated with a raised eyebrow as I started to follow him.

"Sure," he answered. We reached the kitchen and unloaded our bins into the sink. Noah charmed the dishes to wash themselves and we stood there and waited, stacking our bins underneath the sink as we did so.

"Okay," I said slowly, not sure what else to say. It was his move, I figured.

Noah straightened up and smiled at me. "Okay, so not a date," he said. "How about you and I just hang out? I have the perfect idea of where we can go that doesn't involve any alcohol."

"Really," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Where?"

"Do you have an opinion on surprises?" Noah asked with a tilt of his head and an even wider grin.

"I've had enough of them to last a lifetime," I told him.

"Huh," Noah said thoughtfully. "So...no to drinks, no to a date and no to surprises. You're tough."

I shrugged and looked away, fiddling with my apron string. I wondered where Kyle had gone off to. I wished he come back and save me from having to talk to Noah anymore.

"Well, my idea," Noah said, mock impatiently, "was that we could go get ice cream. At Florean Fortescue's, down the alley. You do eat ice cream, don't you?"

"Mhm," I nodded, peering up at him.

"Well, Florean Fortescue has the best banana split in London," Noah said. "Have you tried it?"

I shook my head. "Haven't even visited the place."

"You're kidding!" Noah exclaimed. "You're missing out. Now you have to say yes. I can't allow you to go much longer without trying at least something from Florean Fortescue's. I'd say we go now, but it's half past midnight. The shop is closed."

"Yeah, I'd expect so," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, so you've got some sarcasm in you!" Noah grinned, his eyes brightening.

"I suppose," I shrugged.

Noah stared at me and slowly shook his head in amusement. I, on the other hand, cleared my throat and looked away awkwardly.

"We should...um...clean these up and find Kyle so we can close," I finally said, gesturing to the dishes.

"Yeah, I'll get it," Noah said, fishing his wand out of his apron pocket and waving it towards the sink. "So...what do you say? Ice cream?"

I sighed and looked away as I chewed my lip. "I'll consider it."

Noah smiled and shook his head. "I suppose that's better than a flat out no."

I glanced back over at him for a second before looking away again. "I'll go find Kyle," I finally offered, untying my apron and crossing the room to the basket of dirty ones. I tossed it in before picking up the basket to bring upstairs. "I'll bring these up and see if he went upstairs to wait."

Noah nodded. "Hey, hold on a second." He quickly untied his own apron, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it across the room. It landed directly into my basket.

"Nice shot," I commented with a small smile before turning and hurrying up the stairs, leaving Noah no time to respond.

I opened the door at the top of the stairs and entered the kitchen to see Kyle there, sitting at the table, talking to Tom, who was leaning up against the counter.

"There you are," he said when he saw me. "Finally. Took you and Noah long enough to clear those tables. Even looked like you were doing more talking than cleaning at the end."

I felt my cheeks heat up immediately. "No, we weren't. We were cleaning."

"Sure," Kyle said with a smile. "Dishes done?"

"Noah's finishing them up. I have laundry."

Martha hurried into the kitchen just then, as if on cue. She took the laundry basket from me and balanced it against her hip. "All the tables are cleared and washed? The floor was swept? Front doors were locked?"

I nodded. "Yes to all three. All that's left are the dishes and locking the back doors once Kyle and Noah leave."

Martha nodded. "You go on and get cleaned up. Kyle and Noah can handle the rest."

Kyle stood up with an exaggerated stretch. "Yeah, and it'll go by a lot faster, too. Unless Noah wants to hit on me as well." He winked and clapped me on the shoulder as I scowled. That was the last thing I wanted him to say. Especially in front of Tom and Martha.

"He was not hitting on me," I insisted, my voice low. "We were talking."

"Yeah? What about?" Kyle asked, pausing in the kitchen doorway and turning back to look at me as he crossed his arms. He smiled in amusement.

"He-he was asking me...to get ice cream," I stuttered out, unable to look Kyle in the eye. I knew how that was going to sound to everyone. It was going to prove Kyle's point exactly.

" _Really_ ," Tom said from behind me with a laugh as Kyle laughed as well.

"I knew it," Kyle said through his laughter.

"If I were to go, it would be as friends. I made that very clear," I insisted, crossing my arms.

"What do you mean, if you _were_ to go?" Kyle demanded.

"She said no," Tom said with a shrug. "Is that surprising?"

"Actually, I said I'd consider it," I said.

"Now _that_ is surprising," Tom said. "When you first got here, you kept to yourself so much, you were practically invisible. And the two times you have gone out, you had to practically be backed into a corner."

"It's called character development and Sophie is moving along swimmingly," Kyle said, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes.

"Oh, go finish locking up before poor Noah has to do it all by himself," Martha said, bustling into the room again. "Honestly, he's probably down there waiting." She shooed Kyle from the room and he went only after he'd snuck a wink over his shoulder at me.

"I'd go if I were you, Mouse. If anything, go for the ice cream."

I let out a groan and dug the heels of my hands into my eyes as Martha shut the door.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," she said gently, coming to stand beside me. "Noah is a very nice boy, though. He's sweet. I think you'd like him if you got to know him."

"It's not that I don't like him," I said. "He does seem nice. I just...don't want to get to attached."

"Maybe it won't be such a bad thing," Tom said, stretching his arms above his head as he headed out of the kitchen. "If you're afraid of someone finding you, maybe building your own little army of sorts would be a good thing. People who would fight for you."

"I don't want anyone fighting for me," I said. "I can't ask that of anyone. And I can handle myself."

"Yeah, you were doing so well with that before Martha and I took you in," Tom snorted as he paused in the doorway. "You were skinny as a rail, practically blue from the cold, wearing tattered clothes, and were covered in scrapes, blood and bruises. You looked like you had nothing handled."

I blushed furiously and clenched my jaw as I refused to meet his eyes. He was right, of course. I had been a wreck. And it was actually pretty hard to believe that had only been seven weeks ago. In the time since I'd been here, I'd been eating three meals a day, which meant that I'd put on some weight and was starting to look healthy. I had shelter, food and clothes. Any injuries I'd had were healed the best they could be-most were even gone completely. I was being taken care of here. People were nice to me. And I had to admit that it was pretty great. It was hard to think of giving all of this up. In fact, it was getting harder and harder each day.

"Don't you think you deserve to relax?" Martha asked gently. "Don't you think you deserve a proper family? One that loves you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess."

Martha clucked her tongue before letting out a huff. "That foster family of yours has messed with you something terrible," she said. "They best hope I don't meet them face to face."

"It was mostly just...him," I whispered. "The dad. Everyone else was a victim."

Martha and Tom were both silent. I hadn't spoke about my foster family since the night I'd arrived here and I'd been given Veritaserum. This was the first time I'd talked about it all on my own. It wasn't much, but it was something.

When I didn't say anything else on the subject, Martha simply let out a sigh and reached out as if to put a hand on my arm. She hesitated, but when I didn't move away, she gave my shoulder a slight squeeze before telling me to get some sleep.

And then she and Tom left me alone in the kitchen. I stood there and wrapped my arms around myself as I squeezed my eyes shut and took in a deep breath through my nose. I was exhausted, my feet ached, and I was sweaty and smelled of food. Whenever I finished a shift, I couldn't bear to do anything else until I had bathed. Being able to even do something as simple as bathe was something I had taken advantage of before I'd run away.

I made my way to the bathroom and started a bath. While the water was running, I grabbed my pajames from my room and went back to the bathroom, where I sat down on the edge of the tub, reaching down to swirl my fingers lightly through the water, testing it to make sure it wasn't too hot. I waited a moment, staring aimlessly at the water as I continued to swirl my hand through it, almost hypnotized by the ripples.

Finally, I stood up and began slipping out of my clothes. When I was done, I tried to avoid my reflection in the mirror, as usual. It was almost habit by now, avoiding looking at the two remaining injuries out of the ones I'd arrived here with. The two that had been so deep and severe that they'd left two scars.

I had gotten extremely adept at not looking at those scars. Not that I needed to look, anyway. The image of them was forever burned into my mind as well as the pain from the day I had gotten them-the day I'd run away from my foster home.

Today, however, as I stood facing the tub, I found myself turning my head and resting my chin on my shoulder to gaze behind me into the mirror. And there they were: the two long, red scars situated between my shoulder blades. The one on the right was an inch or two longer than the one on the left, but other than that, they were essentially the same. Two horrific, ugly red lines, about eight or ten inches long.

My throat constricted suddenly and I turned away from the mirror, stepping into the tub and sitting down. I sighed and closed my eyes as I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on my knees. I sat there, still as could be, surrounded by warm water, the only sound the occasional dripping from the faucet.

I tried to control my sudden surge of emotions, but I couldn't make the lump in my throat go away and I couldn't stop the few tears that leaked out of my eyes. Why had I let myself look in that mirror? All it did was cause pain and stir up memories I was still working hard to forget.

The night Martha and Tom had taken me in, I'd ended up showing them the scars while still under the Veritaserum. I'd hated doing it. Hated slipping off the old, ragged cloak I'd nicked from someone's garbage. Hated the gasp from Martha as she saw the tears in the back of my shirt, caked with dried blood. Hated the sickened look on Tom's face as I lifted up the back of my shirt and they saw what had happened. I remembered the strained, tearful sound of my voice as I told them my story. I was frightened, tired, distraught, and trying to fight the Veritaserum to no avail. And after that, I was fighting Martha as she tried to get near enough to heal the wounds on my back as well as on the rest of my body. Tom had ended up using Petrificus Totalus on me, which had only made me freak out even more, and had made Martha yell at him for upsetting me.

Later that night, as I sat shaking in the guest room-the one that had become my own room afterwards-Martha had stopped in to check on me and see if I had needed anything. I had refused to speak to her, instead just sitting in the center of the bed, my knees to my chest as I trembled uncontrollably. Eventually, Martha had left the room, turning to shut the door behind her, but pausing halfway.

"You know," she had said, "if you ask me, it seems that the person who did this to you was trying to rip out your angel wings. I hope they didn't succeed."

And then she had closed the door with a quiet click.

Now, sitting in the tub, I finally leaned back and stretched out, trying to relax my muscles. I rested my head back on the edge of the tub and tilted it to the side as I lifted my foot out of the water and wiggled my toes absentmindedly. Finally, I shook my head and let out a quiet sigh.

 _Angel wings_ , I thought. _Yeah, right._

* * *

 **A/N: So we got a pretty good amount of new information on Sophie in this chapter! I know she's been pretty mysterious up until now. I hope everyone likes the chapter! Leave a review and let me know what you think or if there's anything you'd like to see happen! Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

_March 24th, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts._

 _I am so distraught that I can barely write. My hands are shaking something terrible. Dorothy Good, Sarah's four year old daughter, was taken into custody today. Mary Walcott and young Ann Putnam have both come forward claiming that Dorothy had viciously attacked them, biting their arms repeatedly, like an animal. They claimed to have the marks to prove it. Justice John Hathorne wrote and signed the warrant for her arrest himself, like he has done for all the others before poor Dorothy. And then he sent out the sheriff to find Dorothy and take her into custody._

 _I saw the whole thing. Dorothy had been walking down the road that passes by my house. Most likely to pay me a visit. She had been doing that very frequently since her mother was arrested. It has taken quite a toll on the poor girl and I was more than happy to do what I could to console her, even if my neighbors and friends would frown on it. I have tried to be careful, not wanting to draw any attention to myself in times like this. Most days-every one but Sunday, I mean-I was helping run the tavern that my husband owned, but I would return home by the mid to late afternoon to attend to duties at home, and that is when Dorothy knew to visit. I would do my best to sneak her inside in ways that nobody would notice. It sounds horrible and rude, I know, but it is necessary. We are all trying our best to prolong what danger inevitably awaits many of us. As I've said before, no one is safe. The hysteria and accusations are spreading like wildfire, faster and faster each day. It is getting out of control. I wonder how much time we have before everyone is accused for some reason or another. Reasons that do not even have to do with slipping up. Perhaps someone angered their neighbor. Their husband. Their sister. Perhaps someone dared to look at someone the wrong way. Perhaps someone cursed under their breath. People are pointing fingers to get revenge. Accusing out of spite. Accusing people simply being different. It is unthinkable._

 _In any case, today, Dorothy was on the side of the road, a few houses down from my own, when the sheriff appeared from the other direction. He spotted the poor little girl and began walkng hastily towards her, loudly ordering her to halt. Dorothy froze for a moment before turning and running in the opposite direction. The sheriff began to walk as fast as he could, ordering at other passerby to stop her. At this point, I had heard the commotion and come out of the house. I stood outside my front door and watched as Thomas Putnam, father of Ann Putnam, one of Dorothy's accusers, lunged forward and grabbed Dorothy around the middle. She thrashed and screamed in his arms to no avail. Thomas Putnam, struggling some, managed to bring her to the sheriff. He immediately tied one end of a length of rope around Dorothy's wrists, binding them together. And then he held tight to the other end as Thomas Putnam set the girl down on the ground. She screamed and flailed and threw herself on the ground, refusing to move an inch._

 _But that did nothing to stop that sheriff. He simply began dragging her down the road. Dragging her! Like an animal! That is when I had had quite enough. I could not stop myself. I ran out into the road, shouting for them to stop, shouting for them to leave her alone. They paused for a moment and looked at me curiously._

 _"Mrs. Proctor," the sheriff said, "this child has been accused of witchcraft! Two young women have already shown the bite marks on their arms. The bite marks they have received from the attack of this witch!" He pointed down at Dorothy._

 _"She is but a child!" I cried. "She is not capable of such evil. Please, I beg you, release her!"_

H _e scoffed. He told me Dorothy's age meant nothing. He told me they had proof of her evildoings. I tried to protest, but John, my husband stepped outside the house at that moment and asked what all the fuss was about. I explained, quite near hysterics at this point. John sighed heavily and turned to the sheriff._

 _"Two other girls have come forward? Having fits?"_

 _"Claiming a young Dorothy Good has been torturing and biting them, John," the sheriff said._

 _My husband_ scoffed. _"I must ask, why is their word worth more than the ones they are accusing?"_

 _"The girls have the bite marks on their arms, Mr. Proctor. It is not only their word."_

 _John pursed his lips, but said nothing. I hissed at him to do something, but he just shook his head sadly. There was nothing he could do. Unless he wanted to be next. He sent me a look that said I should do the same and keep my mouth shut._

 _The sheriff excused himself and began to roughly drag Dorothy down the road. She began to scream again, howling like the animal they were treating her as. She was making it tough on him, but he was still bigger and more powerful. There was nothing any of us could have done. I let out a cry of anger of my own and started after her, but my husband held me back. I tried to fight him, but he was too strong. He dragged me into the house._

 _"You must control yourself, Lizzie," he ordered, slamming the door behind him. "Unless you wish them to come for you next?"_

 _At this point, I was in tears. I could not even stand anymore. My legs refused to work. I could not even argue with him. All I could do was sit down on one of the kitchen chairs and wail, covering my face with my hands. "She is a child!" I cried. "None of us deserve this treatment, but she least of all!"_

 _It was silent in the kitchen for a moment. I heard the floorboards creak as John came to stand beside me. He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently before leaning forward and pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to my temple._

 _"Someone should notify poor William Good," he finally said, clearing his throat. And before I could stop him, he'd grabbed his hat and was out the door._

 _That was nearly eleven hours ago. It is close to midnight now and I am still awake. John was gone for a long time. He returned and said he had found out Dorothy was going to be examined, like all the others who had been brought in. And then the court would make their decisions._

 _I cannot sleep. I have been writing this entry to occupy my time and thoughts. But the ink is running low, and so is my candle. My hand has grown tired and so have my eyes. But my mind is ever so awake. And my heart is aching._

* * *

"Sophie! Your birthday is just under two weeks! Are you doing anything?"

"What do _you_ think she's doing, Al?" Kayla snorted.

"Don't be rude," Rachel's voice chirped.

It was Saturday night. May 29th. I was closing in on almost two months here in England, and as Allie had just mentioned, my birthday was approaching. But I had barely heard her. And my birthday was the last thing on my mind. It hadn't been a big deal to me in a long time, so that was nothing unusual. But today I also had the latest diary entry I'd read tumbling around in my mind.

I had been thinking about it all day. I had done my job on autopilot, come back to the flat and gotten cleaned up on autopilot. And now I was sitting in my bedroom with Rachel, Allison and Kayla, still on autopilot.

I had started to think back to my time in Salem and what I'd learned about the witch trials. It'd been a while since I learned about them and it had been a while since I'd actively explored Salem and all it's history. And I'd done so much to erase all memories of the place I used to love from my mind that things had become a little fuzzy. Thinking about it, the names I was coming across in the diary were familiar. Specifically the name Proctor. John and Elizabeth Proctor. I had seen that name before. John's name in particular. And Sarah Good. The Proctors and the Goods had been talked about at school, I remembered that much for sure. Probably in my History of Magic class. But while I had been a good student—an amazing student, really—History of Magic hadn't been my best subject. A lot of information had been thrown at us and there had been so much to cover that we didn't spend much time learning about the witch trials. Ilvermorney wasn't too far from Salem either, so I suppose what Salem residents had missed in class we could make up for by walking through the streets at home.

But that was the other thing. I'd explored Salem a ton with my mother as a kid. She'd taken me to all the interesting places. And we'd go out on Halloween and people watch. Halloween was big back in Salem. But after my mother disappeared, there wasn't much time. I'd gone into the foster system and bounced around from house to house. I'd had chores and summer work to do. I'd snuck out at night a few times and wandered around for some peace and quiet, but that was really it. And once I'd turned eleven, I was in school from September to June. And now I was wishing I'd taken advantage of some of the history more just so I could remember where else I'd seen the names Proctor and Good. Because there was somewhere else. I was just missing it...

"I think the lights are on, but nobody's home!"

Rachel suddenly appeared in front of me, a large, amused smile on her face as she waved a hand in front of my eyes. I blinked and snapped out of my trance.

"What?"

Rachel, Allison and Kayla all laughed and I blushed furiously as my body tensed. They were laughing at me.

Rachel smiled wider and raised an eyebrow. "Your mind got up and wandered away, daydreamer," she said.

"You okay?" Kayla asked, through a mouthful of popcorn. Martha had brought us a bowl not too long ago, a thrilled smile on her face at the sight of us all hanging out. It was sweet. As much as I wanted to distance myself from people, I couldn't bring myself to do it. My willpower was weakening, and fast. I actually liked the girls I worked with. I wanted to be their friend. And seeing Martha so happy only weakened me further.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, pulling my legs to my chest. I couldn't help but feel as if the girl's' laughter was directed _at_ me.

"You know you can talk to us," Allie said kindly. "We're very good listeners."

"You, mostly," Kayla admitted.

"Yeah, you're more of the blunt truth teller of the group," Allie said, nodding. "And Rachel's the kinder truth teller."

"And you're just kind," Rachel added. She looked at me. "It's why we make such a good team." She turned and sat herself down beside me instead of in front of me as she gave me a serious look. "Honestly, the last thing we want to do is make you feel like you're uncomfortable or can't be yourself around us or talk to us about anything. We're you're friends."

They were? I chewed on my lip as my body relaxed slowly. If what Rachel said was true, then they weren't laughing at me earlier to be mean. They were laughing because they were having fun. They weren't making fun of me. They weren't laughing at my expense.

I sighed. Of course they weren't making fun of me. They actually liked me—for reasons I wasn't quite sure of yet. They weren't like the people I knew back at school in America.

I swallowed thickly and looked up at Rachel. "I'm not used to having friends," I said. "I haven't had very many."

"Well, you'd better _get_ used to it," Kayla said. "Because you have friends sitting right in front of you. If you'd get your _head_ out of the _clouds_ , you'd notice."

Rachel giggled as Allie rolled her eyes. Even I let out a tiny snort of laughter.

"See? She's the blunt truth teller," Rachel said.

I half-smiled as I gazed down at my lap. It was quiet for a moment before I let out a puff of air through my mouth and raised my head, staring aimlessly across the room at the wall.

"I was just thinking," I said with a small shrug.

"I think you have more going on in that head of yours than you let on," Rachel said.

"Do you happen to know anything about the Salem witch trials?" I asked suddenly. "The ones that took place in America?"

The girls looked at me in slight surprise.

"We learned a little about them in History of Magic, but not much," Rachel said. "I mean, there were witch hunts that happened here in England and we focusesd mainly on those."

"What she said," Kayla nodded. "She's the one who'd remember. I always fell asleep in History of Magic." She shook her head wistfully. "It always pained me that Professor Binns was a ghost. It meant he'd never age and retire. And he was already dead." She shrugged. "Never any hope for a new teacher."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Why do you ask?"

I shook my head. "Just wondering. Does the name Elizabeth Proctor mean anything to you?"

Rachel frowned in thought. "She was one of the victims, yeah? Didn't they kill her? Her last name certainly sounds familiar."

My stomach clenched unpleasantly. _Had_ Elizabeth died during the trials? I wished I could remember! I should know this stuff inside and out. I _came_ from Salem, for goodness sake.

"Wouldn't you have learned more about it at school?" Allie asked. "Ilvermorney's not even far from Salem, is it?"

"No, it's not. But History of Magic wasn't my best subject either. And we spent some time on the subject, but it wasn't a big lesson. Most people grew up practically having the stories, legends and history infused into their blood." I rolled my eyes and snorted.

"Not you?" Allie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"When I was younger," I said quietly, "but I can't really remember the details. As I got older, I had a lot more to worry about than things of the past. The present and the future were a lot more worrisome."

The room was silent before Rachel spoke again. "Look, I don't know what it is you've been through," she said, "but as we've said, we're very good listeners. You seem so lonely but so closed off at the same time. We want to help you. Honestly."

I looked up and studied her face. It wasn't full of pity like I'd feared, but compassion. "I believe you," I said. "And thanks. I'll work on letting myself accept it. Your help, I mean."

Rachel nodded. "Okay."

It was quiet for another moment before Kayla set the popcorn bowl and jumped up. "Since we're on the serious topic of emotions and helping each other, I'm going to use that as an excuse to get some chocolate!" And with that, she hurried from the room.

Rachel and Allie laughed. "Kayla may be the one with the blunt honesty," Rachel said, "but she does know her comfort food. Now pass that bowl of popcorn."

I actually let out a brief breath of laughter before reaching over and grabbing the bowl.

* * *

I thought long and hard about what I was going to say to Noah about getting ice cream. And by long and hard, I mean _long and hard_. By the time I'd made up my mind, it was the first week of June. He'd asked me two weeks prior. And he'd reminded me every few days since-politely of course. And in the end I told him I'd go. As friends only. But I didn't tell him that I actually was really looking forward to this ice cream I'd heard so much about.

We agreed to go on the first Sunday of June. Noah got off work at three and I had the whole day off, so it worked out pretty well. I spent the morning nervously puttering around my bedroom, doing anything I could to occupy myself. Except read that diary. The last entry had not only spooked me-like all of the entries had so far, at least to some extent-but it had also upset me more than the others. I was afraid to keep reading. Afraid of finding out for sure-from a first hand account-what had happened to these people.

At fifteen minutes to three, I made my way down the back staircase to the kitchen. Martha and Kyle were in there, busily cooking away. Martha was fussing over a big pot of soup while Kyle prepped a bunch of sandwiches.

"How busy is it out there?" I asked as I made my way towards the counter.

Kyle jumped about a foot into the air. "Merlin!" he gasped. "You've got to stop sneaking up on people like that! I didn't even hear you come in!"

I smiled faintly. "Sorry."

"True to your nickname, I guess," Kyle muttered as Martha chuckled from over by the stove.

"It's not _Sophie_ _'s_ fault that you're so jumpy," Martha laughed.

"But it is her fault for scaring me just now," Kyle added.

"So you're saying that you want her to cause a ruckus every time she enters a room?" Martha asked, shaking her head as she gave me an amused smile.

"No, not a _ruckus_ ," Kyle sighed. "I just-forget it." He let out a dramatic groan and rolled his eyes. "It's no use."

"What's no use?" Rachel asked as she breezed into the kitchen. She did a double take when she saw me. "Oh... _no_. No, no, _no_. That will _not_ do."

"Excuse me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You're wearing _that_?" Rachel asked, pointing at me. "On your date with Noah."

"It's not a date!" I protested. "And I can wear what I want."

"First of all, it looks as if you picked the oldest jeans and sweater you owned. Secondly, those Converse have seen better days. _Way_ better days. I mean, I know you don't like to spend much on clothes, but you own some cute stuff! I've seen it myself. Come on, let me help you pick something out."

"No, that's okay, I'm comfortable in what I have," I said quietly, staring at the ground. My cheeks were heating up and my stomach was in knots at Rachel's comments. I knew she didn't mean them to be rude, but they'd upset me. Almost as if she were making fun of my clothes.

"No, really, come on, I don't mind. It's not busy out there," Rachel said, reaching out to grab my arm. "I have time."

"I said I'm fine!" I said forcefully, stepping backwards. My cheeks were heating up with embarrassment. I suddenly felt it hard to breathe. The room was starting to spin and I felt sick. And then I turned and walked quickly from the rom before it could get any worse.

I headed straight out through the side door that led to Diagon Alley-I purposely steered clear of the back kitchen door to the alley where I usually took my breaks-and the alley I usually found myself talking to Fred in. I avoided it this time because I knew someone would easily follow me there. So instead I headed for the other exit, hoping to make an easy escape to Diagon Alley and lose anyone who followed me in the crowd.

I hastily started tapping my wand against the bricks leading to the alley, still struggling to get air into my lungs. My hands were shaking so much that I couldn't even hit the right bricks. I kept having to start over and my frustration only made my current anxiety worse. Eventually I had to stop and put my hands on my knees as I struggled to force myself to breathe long gasping breaths.

Suddenly, I felt a presence at my side. "In through your nose, out through your mouth," a quiet voice said. "It'll help calm you down more efficiently than breathing in through your mouth."

I did as they said and took a breath through my nose, exhaling through my mouth.

"Slower," the voice said, just as quiet and calm as before. "Breathe in for five seconds, hold it for five, exhale for five. If you need to hold on to something, you can hold my hand."

A hand extended into my vision. I kept my eyes downcast for a moment before grabbing it and squeezing.

"Ready...breathe in. One, two, three, four, five. Hold it now..." The voice counted to five again. And then once more as I exhaled. We repeated the process twice more before I shakily lowered myself onto a crate and put my head between my knees, letting go of the hand I was holding and resting both of my own hands on the back of my head. I felt woozy and shaky still, but I knew it would go away eventually. I'd had this sort of thing happen to me before. Back home. But I'd never had anyone come to my aid before. _That_ was new.

I finally looked up with bleary eyes to see Fred crouched a few feet away, right where I'd left him. He was unmoving, staring at me seriously.

"You'll be okay," he assured me. "It looked like you were just having a panic attack."

I groaned and put my head between my legs again. It was silent for a few more beats before I spoke again, my voice muffled and quiet. "This isn't the first time I've had this happen."

"No?" Fred asked quietly. I heard him shift so that he was sitting on the ground instead of crouching. "It looked like it, to be frank. You looked like you were freaking out about freaking out...on top of you freaking out about whatever it is you were already freaking out about. If that makes sense."

I raised my head and looked at him. I swallowed. "I never knew how to calm down from one before. Not properly. I never even knew what was happening. I suspected panic attacks, but I couldn't ever be sure." I paused. "How'd you know about that breathing stuff?"

Fred shrugged. "Personal experience." It was quiet for a beat before he spoke again. "A Healer at St. Mungo's-the magical hospital here-told me about it. It always worked for me so I took a chance. Even though I know it wouldn't necessarily mean it worked for you just because it worked for me. It's not always that simple, you know?"

I stared at him for a moment, studying him. Finally, I nodded. "Thanks. It did help."

Fred gave me a small smile. "Good. I'm glad."

I looked at him a moment longer, thinking over what had happened and how I felt about it. Fred and I had been insistant so far that we weren't here to help each other. And yet, here he was helping me feel better when I thought I'd wanted to be left alone. When I felt as if I couldn't handle someone's presence in my face. Because he _hadn't_ been in my face. He was calm and helpful. It had seemed like such a contrast to what I thought his personality was. Then again, he'd been through a lot and did a decent job of keeping it hidden. At least to people he didn't know well. And I didn't know him well at all. He had a lot of secrets too-still so much that I didn't know about him. And he knew next to nothing about me.

I suddenly felt as if I owed him an explanation. At least _something_. Which was so unlike me and so terrifying. I didn't know where to begin.

I suddenly found myself opening my mouth to speak, but before any words could come out, the door to the pub opened and Noah came out. He looked between the two of us, a concerned look on his face.

"Hey, is everything okay?" He turned to me. "Rachel said you got really upset and ran out here."

I swallowed. "I'm fine. I just had a-a moment. I'm okay."

"You're sure?" Noah asked.

I nodded and took in a deep, shaky breath as I stood up and dusted off my pants. "I'm fine."

"Really? You don't want to sit for a little while longer?" Fred asked.

"No, I'm fine," I argued firmly.

"Okay," Fred said slowly. I glanced up at him to see him looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I felt like I should say something to him. Apologize, maybe, for being so blunt after he'd just helped me. But before I could, Noah spoke.

"Rachel said you were _really_ upset and that you looked almost sick. She thought she did something wrong."

"No, she's fine. _I'm_ fine," I assured him.

"Do you still want to go get ice cream? Or would you rather just go a different day?"

I actually smiled at the expression on Noah's face. He looked so genuinely concerned for my well being and what I wanted. I knew _he_ was looking forward to getting ice cream. And I knew he was looking forward to spending time with me-that was the whole point of him setting this up. And yet he was offering to put it off for even longer. The girls and Martha were right-he _was_ sweet.

"I'll go," I told him, nodding. "I could use some ice cream more than ever, actually."

"You're going to Florean Fortescue's?" Fred asked.

"Yeah," Noah said, letting out a breath of laughter and jerking his thumb towards me as he rolled his eyes. "She's never been."

"Unsurprising," Fred said with an amused smile as he looked over again.

I bristled slightly as the feeling of being made fun of suddenly returned, but then I forced myself to relax. It was in Fred's nature to joke around. He owned a joke shop. This was his _thing_. It didn't necessarily mean he was poking fun at me to be mean. A lot of his other actions said differently. A lot of what he'd done showed that he wasn't mean.

"Well, have a banana split for me," Fred continued. "They're the greatest."

"I've heard," I answered. "You're not going to your parents' house today?" I asked after a pause.

"George and I are just going over a little later today. We usually go in the late morning and spend all day, as you know. And this week, George and I got roped into bringing food. We got into a debate with Bill whether or not we could actually cook something edible-something besides a sandwich. And we're trying to prove it to him."

"You're trying to prove to your brother that you can cook by _picking up food_ and passing it off as your own?" Noah asked.

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds so awful," Fred said with a lazy smile and a nonchalant shrug.

"That's cheating," Noah said with a teasing smile of his own. "Not to mention plagiarism. Maybe I'll tell Tom and Martha. And Kyle, since he does a lot of the cooking himself too."

"Wow, that's low," Fred answered with a smirk as he shook his head. He looked at me and smiled. "Sophie will defend me though, won't you, Soph?"

I blinked at him, surprised by the use of the nickname. "Erm..."

"No, she's going to defend _me_ ," Noah argued. "Coworker honor and all that. Isn't that right, Sophie?" He turned to me and slinging an arm around me. I instantly flinched and stiffened, but he didn't seem to notice. Fred did, though, and I saw his eyebrows shoot up.

I could tell he was debating whether or not to say something, so I shook my head and mouthed that I was fine. He stared at me a second longer before nodding and gesturing towards the door. "Well, in any case, I'd better go get that food and get back before my family decides to kill me in a hunger induced murder spree," he said. "You two enjoy your ice cream." He met my eyes once more and I gave him a reassuring smile, letting him know that I would be totally fine. And I would be. I _could_ handle myself. It wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened to me. But that didn't mean, I oddly found myself thinking, that I hadn't appreciated him coming after me. I had-greatly. While I could handle myself, Fred's help had made it easier.

"See you around," Noah said, giving Fred a smile as he moved out of the way so that Fred could pass him. Fred's eyes lingered on mine for a second longer before he smiled back at Noah and reached for the door.

"Yeah, I'm sure you will. I'll be here Friday night for sure."

Noah nodded and turned back to me. "Are you ready?"

I nodded in return. "Yeah, let's go."

Noah started tapping his wand against the bricks leading to Diagon Alley. I watched from behind him as the bricks began moving, revealing the long, bright alleyway behind them. I had to admit, I had found the alley charming when I first arrived-I still did, actually. Part of me had wanted to explore every inch of it, just like I'd used to do in Salem. But another part of me didn't have the energy. And I didn't see the point. The same hesitancy to get attached to people applied to places and things. Why bother if I was only planning on leaving the second I could? It would only make things harder.

"So...what other shops around here have you missed out on?" Noah asked as we began our walk towards the ice cream shop.

"Probably a good amount of them," I replied. "I went to Ollivander's pretty early on after I got here to get a new wand...I've been to the bakery and to the general store on some errands for Tom and Martha. I've been to the apothecary. And to the twins' joke shop. That's basically it."

"That's actually a fair amount," Noah said, his tone impressed. "I'm surprised you've been to the joke shop. What brought you there?"

"Curiosity," I shrugged. "It took me about a month of being here, but I finally made it."

"I'm surprised it even took you that long. Most people can't resist coming here to see the joke shop. According to Tom and Martha, the alleyway was packed for the shop's opening day. That whole week, really, it was pretty packed."

"I heard the twins dropped out of school to open it," I said.

Noah nodded. "Yeah, it was pretty amazing. The whole school was talking about it for days."

"I've heard," I said. "I've been meaning to ask Fred and George about it, actually. I've heard they enjoy telling the story."

"They _love_ it," Noah said. "In fact, I'm surprised they didn't tell you the day you went to the shop. You know, to give you some history of the place."

I shrugged, but didn't say anything else and we fell back into silence until we finally came across Florean Fortescue's.

"Well, here we are," Noah said, gesturing to the small gathering of tables and chairs set up outside the shop, perfect for people who wanted to sit outside, especially when the weather was relatively pleasant. "Ladies first," Noah continued.

Flashing him a tiny smile and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I slipped by him and chose the first empty table I spotted. I was only vaguely surprised when Noah pulled out a chair for me before taking his own seat. I was now blushing a bright red and found myself fiddling with the bracelet around my wrist. It had belonged to my mother and was the only thing left of her that I had. The day she'd left and never came back, she'd slipped it onto my wrist right before she dragged me out of our house. Miraculously, I'd managed to hold onto it through everything. Back at my foster home, I'd kept it hidden-usually in odd places like in my sock, shoe, or even down my shirt-so that no one would be able to take it from me.

It didn't take long for someone to come to the table to take our order. At Noah's strong suggestion, I caved and ordered a banana split. Noah did as well, and once the waiter had walked away, the two of us were finally left alone in an awkward sort of silence. Or maybe it was just me who found it awkward. Because situations like these _always_ made me feel awkward.

"So...what happened back there, if you don't mind my asking?" Noah asked. "With you and Rachel."

I bit my lip and shrugged. "It was a misunderstanding. She told me I should change my outfit. She was just trying to help, but I thought she was making fun of me."

"Why would you think that?" Noah's eyebrows came together in confusion. "Rachel's not the type to make fun of anyone."

"I know that. I do," I answered with a shrug, turning my head to look out into the alley at the people passing my. I absentmindedly traced my finger on the edge of the table as I did so.

"Did people back in America give you a hard time?" Noah guessed, his voice gentle.

I looked back at him in vague surprise. Although it probably wasn't too hard to put together, it surprised me a bit that he'd addressed it so outright, yet so nicely. He'd asked directly, but not to pry. That much was obvious. He just genuinely cared.

"I guess you could say that."

Noah was silent for a beat before he smiled slightly. "I can't see why they would."

I snorted before I could stop myself. "Oh, _please_. It's obvious I'm a little odd. The quiet, extremely private, awkward girl. I know what I am, Noah. I know how I come across."

Silence fell between us as I blushed furiously and looked down at the table. Honestly, no wonder it was always so hard for me to make friends. I was either extremely quiet and private, or forcefully snaping at people who tried to get too close. Pushing people away either way. Wonderful.

Noah finally cleared his throat. "Look, I don't know what it is exactly that you've been through. And I don't even want to know unless you want to tell me. But...we all actually want to be your friends. Me, Rachel, Kayla, Allie...we're all pretty genuine."

"It's just not something I'm used to," I said. I swallowed and looked up, studying him for a moment before words spilled out of me. "People at school back home _did_ give me a hard time. You're right. I didn't have any friends, unless you count the few fake ones I had during my fifth year that only pretended to be my friends as a joke." I stopped and shook my head as my chest tightened unpleasantly at the memories. "So I'm not used to having friends. I'm not used to genuine friends." There was a pause again as I looked away, down at the table. And then I glanced up at Noah and whispered hoarsely, "But I _want_ them."

Noah's face melted into a warm smile. "Well, then you've come to the right place."

I couldn't help but give him a big smile of my own. "Thanks. For being nice to me. Genuinely nice."

"It's not like I have to try," Noah answered with a smirk. He shrugged as he suddenly looked at me seriously. "I mean treating people with basic kindness and respect should be expected, no?"

I shrugged one shoulder as our ice creams were delivered to us. I had to say they looked amazing. "You'd think so," I said in response to what Noah had asked. I slowly picked up my spoon and fiddled with it. "But surprisingly it doesn't happen."

It was quiet for a moment before Noah smiled and gestured towards my ice cream with his chin. "Try your banana split. I promise it'll cheer you up. If I know anything, it's that ice cream can put anything right. Especially if there's a cherry on top." He scooped up his own cherry and stuck it into his mouth with a grin.

I found a giggle bubbling out of me before I could even stop myself. It was still an unusual sound to me-the sound of my own laugh-but I was oddly hearing it more and more ever since I'd arrived here, which had not been what I'd expected at all. I was constantly being surprised here. And I sure wasn't sure how to feel about that. I liked it, mostly, but old habits died hard. I still couldn't help but feel, in some part of my mind, as if I should be on edge, cautious and afraid. My instincts had been fine tuned to sense anything that might be off.

Which was why I instantly felt my skin prickle a moment later as I felt the sense of being watched. I instantly looked up and did a quick sweep of the outdoor seating area. And then my eyes fell on a table sitting by the corner of the ice cream shop, near the front window. It was shaded by the awning hanging above the window, but I could see there was a woman sitting there. I couldn't see her face clearly due to the shadow from the awning and the fact that she had a menu blocking half of her face, but she looked to be around forty or so. And even though her eyes had darted to her menu, I knew she had just been staring at me.

I instantly looked away, back down at my ice cream. I was just blowing this out of proportion. Perhaps she had just coincidentally been looking or glancing in my direction. It didn't have to mean she was _staring_. I didn't have to be so paranoid here. I was far away from home.

But yet again, that diary came into my mind, reminding me that while I was still in posession of it, maybe I wasn't so far away form home after all. I stil didn't know where it had come from or if they'd dropped it in front of me accidentally or on purpose. And if it was intentional, than it meant someone was spying on me after all. Which meant that I still had to be on alert anyway.

I decided to look back at the woman again and get a better look at her features. That way I'd better recognize her if she showed up again in the same place I was. But when I looked up at her table, it was empty, the menu lying flat and neat on the black wrought iron table as if no one had been there at all.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for such a delay in posting this chapter. Writer's block is a killer! But I hope everyone enjoys the update. Thank you for reading and for being so patient!**


	10. Chapter 10

The Thursday after getting ice cream with Noah was my twenty-first birthday. June 10th. Even though Allie, Kayla and Rachel had brought it up already-a few times, actually-I was hoping that by the time the day came, they'd have all forgotten. And I was definitely hoping they weren't planning some kind of party or get together. I was sincerely comfortable not making a big deal out of it. It wasn't as if anyone _cared_ about the day I was born anymore. My foster family certainly hadn't-well, perhaps my foster mother had. A little. But my own mother had been gone for years, I didn't have any family, no friends (until now, I suppose, and even now they were still too new to think they'd care very much), and I'd stopped being excited about my birthday a long time ago. It was just another day as far as I was concerned.

I should have known better though. Being here was different. The people I knew were different. They weren't the type to ignore my birthday.

The day began with me entering the kitchen early for breakfast before work, rubbing my eyes and yawning. Usually Martha made breakfast for us every morning. And she was always cheery for being up so early, so I didn't notice anything unusual until I'd sat down and a second later found myself staring at two large homemade waffles with strawberries, whipped cream and a candle stuck in the middle. I froze and blinked as I lowered my hands from my eyes. "Martha..."

"Happy birthday, love," she whispered, leaning down and pressing a swift kiss to the top of my head. To my surprise (and a bit of horror), I found my chest constrict slightly with emotion.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"Come on now, blow the candle out," Tom said from across the table, his mouth full of waffle. "Unless you want wax to drip all over your breakfast."

"Hush, Tom," Martha scolded. "We haven't sung Happy Birthday to her yet!"

"Oh...no, that's not necessary," I said, deciding to put a stop to this before it went any further.

"Nonsense," Martha said, brushing me off. "Of course it's necessary. It's not a birthday without singing."

"Martha, you know I don't sing," Tom said.

"And yet I seem to recall you singing louder than everyone at my last birthday party. A surprise one that _you_ helped throw."

Tom muttered something about butterbeer and firewhiskey as Martha rolled her eyes. And then Tom gave in and they both sang Happy Birthday to me while I blushed furiously and tried to figure out what to do with my facial expression. Once they were done, I blew out the candle with a quick puff. And then Martha reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a rectangular gift wrapped box.

"What's this?" I asked in surprise.

"A birthday present. What else?" She asked with a laugh.

"Martha...honestly, you-"

"Just open it," she insisted, placing the present down in front of me.

I did as she said and slowly pulled the paper off of the gift. It was an empty picture frame. The frame was painted black and all around it was a painted green vine with purple and blue flowers on it, sprouting off from both sides and winding their way around the rectangular wood of the frame.

"I painted it myself," Martha said. "And I thought you should choose what photo will go in there. When you get some. With your friends." She smiled happily.

I smiled slightly as I traced my fingers along the painted vine. "Thank you. Both of you," I whispered, looking up at first Martha, then Tom. "For _everything._ "

Martha nodded warmly as Tom gave me a small smile. "I have to admit," he said, "it is nice to see you opening up a bit. Seeing some of your personality instead of that skinny, terrified, silent girl you were when you first showed up. It's good to see you making friends. Maybe it'll get that idea out of your head that you need to save up money and run away the first chance you get."

I raised my eyebrows at him in surprise. "Tom, do you actually _want_ me to stay?" I looked at Martha with a smile as her eyes crinkled with laughter.

"He's got a bigger heart than he lets on," she said. "He cares for you just as much as I do."

Tom cleared his throat and shoved his last bite of waffle into his mouth. "You understand, don't you?" he said, looking at me as he finally swallowed. "We were just shy of a year out of the war and while all of You-Know-Who's major followers were either dead or put into Azkaban, we were all still jumpy and on edge. So many months of being skeptical of everything and always on guard...old habits die hard, you know? And Martha and I had lived through You-Know-Who being in power _twice._ And even though he was dead, it doesn't mean all crime vanished. There are still criminals out there. Theives, con artists, killers...generally bad people. They still exist, even if they have nothing to do with You-Know-Who."

"I know," I whispered staring down at my hands.

Tom was quiet. "I know you do...more so than most people. Which is why I'm saying that when you showed up that night, I was skeptical. I couldn't trust you right away. For all I knew, you were at the least a regular beggar and at most, someone who had hatched a plan to rob us or attack me, my wife, or the guests who stay and eat here. It's why using the Veriteserum was my only condition to letting you in this flat, for however long a period of time."

"No, I understand," I whispered. "And I am _so_ grateful that you took a chance on me. Believe me. You two are the closest I've had to parents in a long time."

Tom nodded curtly once before leaning over and gently putting a hand on mine. "Martha and I have also decided to give you today off. Birthday treat."

"What?" I asked in surprise. "You don't have to do that. You need the help and I need the money."

"There's no reason for you to leave here so quickly, dear," Martha said gently. "I know it must be hard for you to fully understand this, but we mean it. We'd like you to stay as long as you'd like. You are not burdening us and you are safe here."

I closed my eyes. I wasn't sure of that. With the diary and now the woman I'd seen watching me at the ice cream parlor, I was becoming more unnerved with every passing day. I didn't know if I was paranoid or not, but I felt that I needed to tell _someone_ about all of it. But I was afraid to tell Tom and Martha. And the reason why was insane. I was afraid that if I told them I was afraid someone was after me, they'd kick me out. Tom had just said how skeptical he had been after the war. How he, like most people, just wanted to protect his business, his customers and his wife. If I told him someone was watching me and that I'd found that diary, he might get mad and I'd be out on the street again. I'd lose everything all over again.

The thing was that, as much as I was telling myself I still needed money to move out as soon as possible and stay on the run, I was starting to fear that I didn't have the strength or willpower to actually do that anymore. I was starting to slowly feel comfortable here. I had told myself I wouldn't, but I was. I couldn't help it. I had everything I'd ever wanted and now I was afraid to lose it all. I was afraid if I told Tom and Martha my secrets, they'd get rid of me and I'd be back at square one.

"Take the day off," Martha told me firmly, taking my empty breakfast plate away from me. "It's not up for debate. And tonight I'm making a special dinner. I've invited Kyle, Rachel, Allie, Kayla and Noah." She turned and grinned at me.

"Martha," I groaned. "A party?"

"Not a party, a _dinner_ ," she said. "No arguments. Now go on, make the most of your extra day off. It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day today. No reason to stay cooped up in here!"

I sighed and looked at Tom, who shrugged. "She has a point. The sun's out right now, the first time it's been out in days. Go catch some rays for me." He stood up to clear his own dish, gave Martha a kiss and then headed downstairs.

"Go on," Martha urged me, wiping her hands on her apron. "Just be back for six o'clock tonight for dinner!"

I smiled at her excitement before thanking her again for my gift. Then I gathered it up and brought it back to my room, where I stood it up on my desk, the blank space where a photo belonged staring back at me. Just looking at it made me want to put one in there. I wished I'd had an old photo of me and my mother, but I didn't even have that. We hadn't brought much with us the night we left. Definitely no photos. I wasn't even sure what my mother looked like anymore. My memories were way too vague and getting foggier by the day. Maybe I could put a photo of me, Tom and Martha inside. Or of me and Kayla, Allie and Rachel. That is, if Tom and Martha didn't tell me to leave and go as far away as I could once they found out about the diary and the woman at Florean Fortescue's. Sure, they could brush the whole thing off as paranoia, but what if they didn't? What would I do then?

Normally, I'd deal with something like this myself-I'd always had to. I had essentially no one. But now things were complicated. I had people here that cared. It was different from back home. And I cared about them in return. I couldn't put them in danger and if someone was after me, it was dangerous to everyone else. I had to involve them. I had to involve _someone_. Even if I was just being paranoid, I should tell someone about the things I'd witnessed so far, shouldn't I? So that we could put an end to something before it started. The only problem was, I couldn't bring myself to face Tom or Martha. Especially not after this morning. Birthday waffles, a picture frame, the day off, _and_ a birthday dinner? That was more than I'd received for the past fifteen birthday's combined.

I bit my lip and looked out the window, where, in the distance I could make out the top of Fred and George's joke shop, the bright purple color standing out against the brown buildings just as much now as it had when I'd first seen it from my window. I remembered Fred helping me last weekend and how I'd been so close to opening up to him. It had been terrifying, but...if I'd come close once, maybe I could do it again.

I debated for a second more, and then I quickly stood and marched over to my closet. I moved some shoes out of the way and finally pulled out the diary. And then I thundered down the stairs and out the door, entering the alley and making my way towards the other end as fast as I could.

When I finally reached the joke shop, I let myself inside and stood in the doorway for a sescond. It was crowded, but nowhere near as bad as when I'd first visited. It was less overwhelming this time around and it made me feel better.

I searched the immediate vicinity and didn't see the twins, so I began wandering around looking for them, actually enjoying taking everything in this time. I smiled as I walked past the shelves of pygmy puffs. The tiny purple and pink balls of fluff squeaked from both sides, bouncing around in their cages as if they were begging me to take them all home.

I stopped at one cage and peered in at one of the smaller pygmy puffs who was sitting still-unlike the others-and staring up at me. I peered at her for a moment before bringing my finger up to the space between the cage's bars.

"Hey there," I whispered, reaching in to pet the small pink creature. She let out a shrill squeak and retracted to the back of the cage.

"She's shy like you," a voice said from behind me. I turned to see Fred standing there, wearing his magenta work robes and a wide smile.

I stared at him for a second before turning back to the pygmy puff who was still sitting in the back of the cage. "Does she have a name?"

"Not yet," Fred answered. "George and I try not to name them. We feel that should be up to the buyers."

"Yeah, makes sense," I answered, tilting my head and staring at the small, pink pygmy puff some more. "She doesn't like people?"

"Not particularly," Fred answered. "We've been having trouble selling her for that reason. She's one of the less...responsive ones. And customers tend to go for the more excited ones."

For some reason that made my chest ache a bit. "That's so sad."

"Agreed," Fred said, shrugging one shoulder. "George and I have considering adopting her ourselves if no one else takes her."

"I bet she'd love that," I said. I swallowed before turning to Fred. "So I actually came here to see if I could talk to you."

"Yeah?" Fred said curiously, raising an amused eyebrow at me.

I nodded solemnly, hoping I wouldn't start to lose my nerve. I figured I'd better get talking then. I looked over one shoulder, then the other. "Can we talk somewhere more private?"

Fred nodded before gesturing for me to follow him. He led me to the back room that we'd been in the first time I'd come to the shop. Fred approached the work table and started to clear up some of the mess covering the top of it. "Sorry for the mess," he said.

"Are you really?" I asked, perching on the edge of one of the stools around the table.

"Hm?" Fred asked, glancing up at me in confusion.

"Are you honestly sorry for the mess? You don't seem like the type to be embarrassed by something like that."

Fred stared at me for a second before he broke into laughter. "You're right. I'm not. I couldn't care less about all this." He haphazardly tossed an empty vial from his hand back onto the tabletop as he let out a puff of air and shrugged. He gave me a tiny smile. "So...what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Erm..." I began, unsure of where to start now that I was here. I held up the diary and turned it around in my hands, gripping it tightly and staring down at it.

"That's the diary you were so enthralled in the day George invited you to the Burrow," Fred stated. "The one he took from you in order to get you to come."

I nodded. "Yeah, it is."

"Is it yours?" Fred asked after a pause.

"Um..." I began. "Not exactly." I swallowed and lowered the diary back to my lap as I looked up at Fred. "I think I'm in trouble." I found myself holding my breath as I awaited his response. I didn't know what to expect as a reaction. Would he be concerned? Would he want to help? Or would he brush me off as being paranoid and silly? Did he have time to hear my problems when he was still dealing with his own? That's how I'd felt about him when I'd first met him-or at least it was what I'd told myself. But it was becoming less true every time I spoke to him.

Fred frowned. "What do you mean?"

I held up the diary. "Someone bumped into me a few weeks ago when I was on my way home from visiting your shop. They dropped this in front of me."

"So?" Fred asked.

I swallowed and set the diary down on the table. Fred walked around and stood next to me, peering down at it.

"Do you know exactly where in America I'm from?" I asked.

"No," Fred answered quietly, glancing over at me.

I opened the tattered, brittle brown cover of the diary to the first page. The words I'd read that first day, stared back up at me in faded black ink, but still miraculously readable. _The Diary of Elizabeth Ann Proctor. Salem, Massachusetts. 1692._

"I'm from Salem," I whispered.

There was a silence that followed my words. A silence in which I was practically squirming with nerves as I waited for Fred to speak.

"So let me get this straight," he said. "Someone bumped into you, you didn't see who it was, but they dropped this diary in front of you. And it just so happens to be the diary of someone from the town you're from. Someone from the sixteen hundreds? And you automatically think you're in danger?"

I stiffened at the disbelief in his tone. I snapped the diary closed and stood up. "You know what? Nevermind, Fred." I turned for the door, but Fred grabbed my arm.

"Wait...please."

I turned and met his eyes, still such a clear blue despite the dull sadness I could still see in them. "What?" I asked, pulling my arm from his grasp.

"I'm willing to listen. I just don't quite understand yet. Please...explain it to me."

"Why do you care?" I asked.

"Merlin knows I've needed someone to understand how I was feeling a lot of the time over the past year. And a lot of the time it felt like nobody did understand. But it didn't mean that people didn't try or didn't want to listen. They just didn't know how. And I didn't exactly tell them. So if you'll talk to me, I'd like to help."

"I thought you didn't want us to be a two-person support group," I argued. I shook my head. "You were right, Fred. I didn't come here-to England, I mean-for help. I came here planning to just get my bearings and leave."

"Hang on, hang on," Fred said, moving to cut me off as I turned for the door. He reached out to touch my arm, but I pulled away and he slowly lowered his hand. "Maybe I changed my mind."

" _Why_? That's what _I'm_ having trouble understanding."

"Because you need someone. And for some reason-a reason I'm not quite sure of-you decided you wanted to talk to me. You decided I was the person you wanted to come to for help. I can't just refuse you like that. I'm not heartless. I'm just going through a lot. I've been a moody bastard a lot of times in the past year. Just ask my family." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair before walking over to the table again and leaning against it in exhaustion. "After Percy died, everyone was always treating me like I was the one who needed help. And maybe I did, but I didn't know what kind of help I needed or how to ask for it. If it was hard for me to find someone to be open with out of all the people available to choose from, well, I can't imagine how you must feel."

"I don't need your pity. We've discussed this."

"No pity. I just...don't want to turn you away. And I like having a task to focus on. It gets my mind off of things." He met my eyes and I could see desperation looking back at me through his expression. "Please?"

I stood still for a second before slowly making my way back over to my seat. I cleared my throat. "Elizabeth Proctor wasn't just any old person from the sixteen hundreds, you know," I said.

"Really," Fred answered, the corner of his mouth turning up a bit as he looked at me.

I smiled a bit at him and slowly shook my head. "She was involved in the Salem witch trials. And in this diary, she keeps an account of what she witnessed."

" _Really_ ," Fred said, sounding a bit more interested now. He pulled out the stool beside me and sat down, his body angled to face me and his arms resting lazily on his knees. "And you say someone just _dropped_ that in front of you?"

I nodded. "It's too freaky to be accidental, Fred," I whispered. "I mean, there can't be many other people here that are also from Salem-if there are even any at all. It just seems like whoever dropped this _meant_ to drop it in front of me. Like they meant for me to have it."

"So you think someone's spying on you?" Fred asked. "Someone from home?"

"I'm not sure exactly," I answered. "It feels that way, but so far all I've witnessed is this diary and...When I went out for ice cream with Noah last weekend, this woman at one of the corner tables...well it felt like she was staring at me. And when I looked back over at her, she was gone. Just like that."

Fred thought about that for a moment. "I hate to break it to you, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Minds can be pretty powerful and if you're already on edge, maybe it just _seemed_ as if-"

"I know what I saw, Fred," I insisted. "And besides, whether she was watching me or not, the fact is that somehow this diary ended up in my posession. A real diary from where I was from and a real account of the Salem witch trials. I came here to move on from that. I came here to get away from that place. And it just seems too strange that this diary would be dropped right in front of me. I can't help but feel as if someone knows I'm here. As if someone followed me. Or at the very least someone here knows who I am and where I'm from. And they want me to have this diary."

Fred took in a long breath through his nose. "Maybe it's someone _good_."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe no one from Salem is after you to hurt you. Maybe someone actually wants to help you with something. Maybe this diary is a clue."

"Well if they were trying to be nice, it would be a lot easier if they just were outright about it," I huffed. "Besides, I doubt there's anyone from back home who'd actually want to help me."

"No?" Fred asked quietly.

I shook my head. "Believe it or not, Tom and Martha have been the closest thing to family I've had in a long time." I paused and took in a slow breath before staring at the ceiling. "Back in Salem, I lived with a foster family-and had been since I was five years old. I bounced around a few times before ending up in the one I was in the most recently. They weren't the greatest. And eventually I ran away. I didn't have any friends, no exended family, nothing but memories to keep me in Salem. And even those weren't enough. I needed to get as far away from that town as possible. So I ran. I moved around America a lot, practicing Apparating longer and longer distances until I was good enough to try traveling across an entire ocean. And it _worked_." I shook my head and blinked as I frowned throughtfully at the ceiling.

"I had nowhere to stay," I continued, "but I didn't care. I stole some clothes from peoples' garbage. I stole _food_ from the garbage. I was _that_ hungry and desperate. Tom caught me in the back alley of the Leaky Cauldron once and chased me away, but I kept going back. I liked their food the best. Eventually Tom caught me again. He walked out to see me crouched beside a garbage can, wearing a tattered, stolen cloak and drenched from the rain. He got really angry and started yelling. Martha came out after that and stopped me from running. She invited me in, much to Tom's disappointment."

"What convinced him to let you stay?" Fred asked, his voice still quiet.

I finally looked at him, blinking a few times as I did. I had almost forgotten he was there. I'd felt like I'd been talking to myself. But it had felt good to say it all out loud, even if it was only scraping the surface of what I'd gone through.

"Veritaserum," I said. "That was Tom's idea. Make me take some so he'd know I wasn't a threat. Understandable, but I was _terrified._ I pitched a fit. I screamed and fought them..." I trailed off and shook my head. "I still don't quite understand what Martha saw in me that made her fight for me to stay."

"Maybe she saw exactly what you were," Fred said. "A scared girl who was in need of some help, shelter and food."

"She always says she has good intuition," I sighed, staring absentmindedly at the worktable. I leaned over to look into one of the cauldrons. "What are you working on?"

"Erm, just a new batch of Canary Creams," Fred said distractedly.

"What do those do?"

"They make whoever eats them turn into a canary. Momentarily, of course." Fred cleared his throat. "So...you think that if someone's following you it could be your foster family?"

I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. "I don't know. It wasn't the whole family that was bad. My foster mother was fine. And so were my two foster sisters. They were younger than me by two and three years. But we were all pretty powerless against my foster dad. He was pretty rough. He didn't want us to leave. Ever since I ran, I've felt that he wouldn't just let it go and that he'd come after me."

"But to follow you all the way here?" Fred asked. "You said you moved around America a lot too. Did you ever feel like you were being followed there?"

"No, but that was always why I kept moving. To give him less of an opportunity."

"And now you've been here for a while and you're-"

"Paranoid?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not saying I don't believe something's up," Fred said. "But for someone to follow you all the way here..." He sighed and rubbed his eyes before he lowered his gaze to the diary. He slowly reached out for it. "Do you mind?"

I hesitated for a bit, biting my lip as I looked at him nervously.

"If I'm going to get a sense of what's going on here, I think I should know what you know. As much as I can, anyway."

I considered that for a moment before slowly handing him the tattered book. "Be careful with it. It's practically falling apart."

Fred took it from me gingerly. He opened his mouth and closed it again, frowning slightly. "Are you sure this diary is..."

"Safe?" I asked as Fred nodded. "I wondered the same thing, but nothing's happened so far just from reading it and holding it. It doesn't move on its own or make any sounds. It hasn't caused any bodily harm from touching it." I shrugged. "My eyes haven't been burned out of my head. Nothing odd has happened to me whatsoever."

Fred nodded again and swallowed as he turned the diary over in his hands.

"You don't look like you believe me," I said with a small smirk.

Fred cleared his throat and lowered the diary to his lap. He began fiddling with the corner before he spoke again. "When my sister was in her first year of school, she was slipped a blank diary by the father of one of the kids at school. He used to be a Death Eater and most likely has tons of dark objects in his house." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, she started writing in it, even though our dad had always drilled into our heads not to trust anything unless we could see where it kept its brain. But she wrote in the diary anyway and it was writing _back_. She poured everything into it and eventually it _posessed_ her. Made her do really terrible things. And in the end, it almost killed her." He swallowed and cleared his throat again. "I never understood why she couldn't come to any of her own _siblings_ instead of writing in that thing."

"I'm sorry, Fred," I whispered. "I don't know what to say...I-"

"The diary had a part of You-Know-Who's soul in it," Fred interrupted.

"What?" I spluttered, binking at him.

"She didn't know at the time. She didn't know until the very end," Fred said hurriedly. "No one knew. But that's what it was." He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes.

I was quiet for a second. "Look, Fred, if you don't want to do this, then-"

"No, I do," he said quickly. He looked up and gave me a fleeting smile. "Remember, the last thing I need or want is pity. For anything."

"But-"

"I can handle this," he said.

"But you just said your dad told you-"

"My dad is not here, I am an adult, and I've always been choosy about what rules I follow," Fred said firmly. He held up the diary and smiled. "I won't read past where you are," he said, touching the bookmark I had sticking out from between the pages.

I looked at him, stunned, for a second. "Erm, okay...if you're sure."

"I'm sure," Fred said. "Besides, like you said, nothing's happened to you from reading and holding it, so I think we'll be fine."

"Unless it hates redheads," I said with a tiny smile as I looked back down at the table.

"Are you making a joke?" Fred asked with a laugh.

I shrugged. "Anything you want me to do while you're reading that?"

Fred let out a puff of air as he scanned the worktable. "Want to put the Canary Cream potions into those molds over there?" he asked, pointing. "Then when you're done you can put them on one of the shelves. Wherever there's room. They need to sit overnight."

I nodded and stood up, crossing to the other side of the table and getting to work as Fred set the diary on the table and flipped it open. We sat in silence as he read it and every so often I glanced up at him to look at his expression. He had his elbows resting on the table, his hands balled ino fists that rested on either side of his head, which made it hard to see his face, but I could tell he was just as enthralled with the diary as I was. It was terrifying to read, but hard to stop. And it was all _real_.

Fred suddenly lifted his head up and ran his hands over his face. I looked up at him as I started on pouring the Canary Creams into a new mold.

"You need to read faster," he announced, closing the diary and resting his chin in his hands.

I smiled. "Hooked already, huh?" I asked.

"Well I need to know what happens to that little girl!" he exclaimed. "You just left off right after she got arrested."

"Well, yeah, I kind of needed a break after that entry. It's not exactly light reading, Fred."

He nodded."Yeah, I know.'

I swallowed. "So what'd you think?"

"I think it's unfair," he said. "I mean, witch hunts happened here in England, but they were typically burned. Non-magical people still died, but if someone magical was captured, they just casted a Flame-Freezing Charm. Take Wendelin the Weird, for example. She allowed herself to be captured at least forty-seven times in various disguises because she liked being burned so much. Well, rather she liked the tickling feeling the flames gave once she cast the charm."

"Yeah, well back in Salem, the accused were hanged," I said. There was a pause. "You paid attention in History of Magic? I didn't take you as the type. Even _I_ struggled to pay attention in that class."

"Was your teacher a boring old ghost?" Fred asked.

"No," I answered. "He was a boring old living person."

Fred snorted. "To answer your question, no, I didn't pay attention at all in that class."

"Then how did you know about Wendelin the Weird?"

"There are some things you just happen to learn," Fred said. "Probably picked it up at some point or another. Whether I actually retained _something_ old ghostly Binns said, or I heard one of my siblings or my parents or a classmate mention it when doing homework. And besides, George and I aren't _entirely_ daft."

"No, of course not," I said. "You can't be to pull all this off." I gestured around the room. When I looked back at Fred and met his eyes, he was smiling at me in amusement and I blushed as I looked away quickly. I finished filling the last mold and began putting them on the shelf behind me. "So...I've been advised by a few people now to ask you about the day you dropped out of school." I looked at Fred over my shoulder and saw him look up at me in surprise.

"Who?" he asked.

"Noah and your sister. They've both said how much you like talking about it and they were both surprised you hadn't told me yet." I turned from the shelf and sat down across from him.

"I'm not the same person I was before," he said quietly. "Besides... _you're_ different."

"In a bad way?" I asked hesitantly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I looked down at the table.

"No," Fred said quickly. "It's just...you appeared here out of nowhere, and just as closed off and private about your past as I am. And even though I was upset that you found out what happened at first, you really haven't been weird about it. You _haven't_ treated me like I'm crazy or fragile or helpless. If I tell you I'm fine, you back off. You don't hover."

"I don't exactly have the right to hover," I said. "I barely know you."

Fred shrugged. "My point is that somehow we started off with all the heavier information first, which seems so totally _backwards_. It never seemed fitting to just jump into the story of how I left school. It just didn't feel right. Besides, it's been hard to have the energy in the past year."

I didn't say anything. I didn't know _what_ to say, so I just nodded. It was dead silent between us for a while and I found myself shifting in my seat as I thought of something to say.

"Thanks for your help today, by the way," Fred said, stretching his arms above his head.

"I didn't do much," I said. "It was an easy job."

"Still helpful, though," Fred said. He glanced at his watch. "I should be getting back out there."

"Yeah, of course," I said, grabbing the diary and following Fred out into the store. "Sorry for taking up so much of your time today."

"Nah, don't mention it," Fred said nonchalantly. "I love taking breaks from work in the form of a mysterious girl and her mysterious diary." He nudged me and I smiled slightly.

Fred walked me to the door and at the last minute, I turned to look at him. "Do you and George-do you, um..."

"Come on, spit it out," Fred teased with a raised eyebrow.

"Do you two...have any plans tonight?"

Fred smiled. "Why, are you asking us on a date?" His smile turned into a smirk. "I'm flattered, but sharing girls with my twin has never been and never will be my thing."

"No, no, of course I'm not," I said quickly.

Fred chuckled. "I'm joking, Soph."

I bit my lip and fiddled with my hair. "I just wanted to know if you'd like to come by for dinner. Martha invited Noah, Allie, Kayla, Rachel and Kyle and I just felt as if I should have at least one pick of my own. Even though I'd love having the others over anyway..." I trailed off as I realized I was saying too much. Typical. Either I was saying hardly anything at all, or I was saying too much.

"Tom and Martha have dinner parties often?" Fred asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"No..." I said slowly. "It's-well, it's my twenty-first birthday today."

"Today's your birthday?" Fred asked, his eyes going wide. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

"I just did," I said with a shrug.

"Oh, so _witty_ ," Fred said, leaning out to grab my arm. I flinched away and Fred froze before gently putting a hand on the small of my back. "Come on," he said, guiding me back into the shop. "I want you to have something."

"Fred, please. That's not necessary." I reluctantly let him guide me back through the shop. This was why I hadn't wanted to let the whole world know it was my birthday. I didn't want any extra attention. Everything Tom and Martha had done at breakfast had been more than enough. But then again, I reminded myself, I had been the one to invite Fred and George. And I couldn't invite them without telling them what I was inviting them to. I guess a part of me felt as if I should have some say in who else I'd want to celebrate my birthday with. And after today, I wanted Fred there. And George too, of course. After all, he had been the one who had all but insisted that Fred and I could help each other out. And today I had proved him right.

Eventually, Fred came to a stop back over near the pygmy puffs. Specifically, the shy little pink one we'd been discussing earlier. He opened the cage and slowly stuck in a finger, allowing the pygmy puff to come to him instead of reaching in and scaring her. Once the pygmy puff had hopped closer, Fred reached in gently and took her out, holding her to his chest.

"Here," he said, slowly holding her out to me. "I want you to have her."

"Fred, I can't possibly-"

"Please, it's a birthday present from me to you. I could tell you took a liking to her right away. And she needs someone. And what better person to be that someone than you. Someone who I think knows what it's like to be wary of people. Someone who's likeable and _wants_ people to like them and _wants_ a family, but has been unfairly struggling to get one."

I gazed at the tiny pygmy puff in his hands. I could tell she was trembling from where I was. Fred was right. I had felt as if I related to the tiny, shivering pygmy puff. I _did_ get what it was like. I hated knowing that no one was interested in buying the poor thing just because she shied away from people.

"Go on, take her," Fred said.

Hesitantly, I reached out for the pygmy puff, holding her gently and running a finger over her head as she trembled and squeaked. I quietly shushed her, a slight smile forming on my face as she quieted, but continued to shake slightly. I looked back up at Fred as I used my free hand to start digging in my pocket. "How much?"

"I told you...it's a birthday present from me to you. And that typically means you don't pay anything." He grinned widely.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are you just giving her to me because you know you wouldn't make a profit off of her anyway?"

Fred rolled his eyes slightly. "Sophie, listen. I know this is hard for you to understand, but sometimes people are going to be nice to you because they want to and there isn't going to be any ulterior motive."

"You're right. I am having trouble understanding that."

"Please," Fred said quietly. "Just take her. No cost. Enjoy her company."

"If I..." I began in a whisper, looking down at the pygmy puff. "If I leave..."

"Tell you what," Fred said after a beat. "If you do decide to leave, you can bring her back and I'll take her. No questions asked and no arguing. But I am promising you now that you are going to grow so attached to her that you're either going to take her with you, or you'll just stay." He shrugged.

"Are you trying to trick me into staying by giving me a pygmy puff?" I asked, tilting my head to the side thoughtfully.

Fred chuckled. "My, my, what a suspicious young woman you are."

I looked down at the pygmy puff in my hands. "I have good reasons to be."

Fred was quiet for a moment before he gestured for me to follow him with a tilt of his head. "Come on, I'll get you set up with food and everything else you'll need to officially become the proud owner of a pygmy puff."

I nodded. "Will you come tonight?" I asked. "You and George."

Fred pretended to think. "I don't know," he said with a dramatic sigh. "George and I have such busy schedules. I mean, after work we've got so much stuff to do...lots of cleaning and laundry and George likes to bake at least once a week. He's got a frilly apron and everything. Tonight's apple pie night, I think. Not sure I can miss that."

"Really," I said, a smile twitching up the corner of my mouth. "That's too bad. We'll be having cake. Chocolate, I think. Homemade. With homemade chocolate frosting."

"Say no more," Fred said. "To hell with George's apple pie. We'll be there."

"Be where?" George suddenly came around the corner and saw me. "Hey!"

"Today is Sophie's birthday," Fred said, "and she has ever so kindly invited us over for dinner. And cake."

"Fred was telling me all about how you like to bake something special once a week and tonight was apple pie night."

"Ah, I thought I heard mention of an apple pie," George said. "Although, I wasn't aware I was baking it." He raised an eyebrow at Fred, who simply shrugged and smiled.

"I didn't think so," I said.

"Well in any case, happy birthday," George said. "How old is the lovely lady, may I ask?"

"Georgie, Georgie," Fred scolded. "You should know better than to ask a woman's age."

"She can't be too far off from our own age, Freddie. It's not like she's much older."

"Still. Honestly, it's a wonder you can keep a girlfriend with disrespect like that."

"Shut up." George rolled his eyes before turning back to me. "So...I'm genuinely curious. How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," I replied.

"Us too," George said with a smile. "Only as of a few months ago. On the first of April."

"April Fool's day," I commented in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Fred answered. "When we say we were born to do this job, we mean it in every way possible."

I didn't reply. Instead, I stared around the shop, unsure of what to feel. Now that the overwhelming feeling I'd felt the first time coming here was wearing off, I felt amazed. But feeling amazed felt odd. How could I be amazed by a joke shop-a shop that specialized in pranks-when so many jokes and pranks had been played on me back at Ilvermorny? In all of my experience, pranks were used to embarrass people. They were used maliciously. I was struggling to put together the facts that Fred and George ran a shop like this and had most likely been regularly pranking people since birth...and yet they were nice.

"So...what time tonight?" Fred asked.

"Erm...six." I jolted out of my trance and looked back at him.

"Okay, sounds perfect," Fred answered. "You in, George?"

"I'm always in when it involves partying and cake," George answered. "Thank you for inviting us."

I gave them a shy smile. "Of course."

After that, Fred gave me some materials for my new pygmy puff, gave me some tips on caring for her and then sent me on my way, promising to see me at six o'clock. And then I immediately made my way back to the Leaky Cauldron, actually feeling pretty excited to get my pygmy puff set up in her new home. Now all I had to do was think of a name...

* * *

"Okay, so listen," Rachel said, the second I opened my bedroom door to let her in. It was four-thirty. She wasn't supposed to be here for another hour and a half, and yet, here she was, breezing into my bedroom as if she'd known me my whole life. She walked over to my bed, dropped a rectangular gift wrapped box onto it, and turned to face me. "I'm sorry I offended you the day you went out with Noah. I didn't mean to make you think I was making fun of you. I wasn't. I was just trying to help. _But_ with that being said, your clothes are very basic."

"I like it that way. I told you that," I answered.

"I know. You don't want to spend the money," Rachel said, flapping her hand around. "But a girl has to own at least one outfit that isn't a plain sweater, t-shirt or jeans. So that's why I decided to start you off." She picked up the box from my bed and handed it to me. "Go on, open it."

I blinked at her. Another gift? That was my third one today. Slowly, I crossed the room and took the box from her. "Thanks, Rachel, but you didn't have to-"

"I wanted to. It's your birthday. You deserve it. Trust me."

Swallowing, I set the box back down on the bed so I could better unwrap it. And then when I pulled off the lid, I found myself staring down at a deep purple sundress covered in tiny white polka dots.

"Polka dots are such a _great_ pattern, aren't they?" Rachel asked, sitting down on my bed and leaning backwards on her hands.

I giggled. "They are."

"Allie agrees. Kayla is partial to stripes, though, which I've never felt are flattering. At least on me. I read in _Witch Weekly_ though that vertical stripes are more slimming."

"Please, as if you need to utilize that," I snorted. "You could pull off anything. In fact, I'm surprised you're not a model."

Rachel let out a screech of laughter. "Yeah, right! A model, honestly." When she had stopped laughing, she looked at me. "Aren't you going to put it on?" She gestured to the dress.

"Um, yeah, hang on. I'll be right back." I walked over to the door and reached for the knob.

"Where are you going?" Rachel asked.

"To change. In the bathroom," I said.

"What's wrong with here?" Rachel asked. "I won't look. And even if I accidentally saw something, I mean it's not like I don't know what a naked girl looks like." She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

I flushed as I looked down at the ground, unsure of how to get out of this situation without her suddenly finding me incredibly odd. "I-I'd just-"

"You changed in front of me that day we first hung out and went to Hogsmeade," Rachel pointed out. "And did I look then?"

She hadn't, but even then I'd changed hastily, all while keeping my eyes on her to make sure she wasn't looking. I was too afraid of anyone seeing the scars on my back. And that was the other thing. Once I put the dress on, I had to make sure the scars weren't visible, even a little bit.

"I'm really just more comfortable in the bathroom," I stammered, leaving quickly before Rachel could say anything else.

Once in the bathroom, I hurriedly changed into the dress. It was pretty and it did fit perfectly. That was a plus. Holding my breath, I turned my back to the mirror and then craned my neck to look over my shoulder. About an inch of one of the scars was visible over the top of the back of the dress. But as long as I kept my hair hanging straight down my back, it was covered completely. It was a risky chance to take considering how easily my hair could move, but I just had to remember to keep it down my back. No pulling it into a quick ponytail or pulling it over one shoulder. Down my back.

I arranged it the way I wanted and let out a slow breath. Satisfied as much as possible, I headed back to my room to see that Allie and Kayla had arrived and had joined Rachel on my bed. When I walked in, Rachel beamed. "It's perfect!"

"Purple is a good color for you," Allie said. "Although, blue would certainly bring out your eyes...But I like the purple."

"Want me to do something with your hair?" Rachel asked eagerly.

"No," I said hurriedly, backing away a step and pressing myself against the wall.

"Okay," Rachel said, looking at me curiously. She recovered quickly, though, and smiled at me. "I like it down anyway."

I swallowed and stepped away from the wall. "Thank you all for coming," I said, gingerly sitting down on the bed.

"Of course we'd come!" Allie said brightly.

"Any excuse to eat more of Martha's cooking," Kayla added with a cheeky smile. "Sophie's lucky. She gets to eat it every day."

"And Noah's coming," Rachel said with a devious grin. "You said you enjoyed yourself last weekend, yeah?"

I nodded. "He's very nice."

"He has a heart of _gold_ ," Allie said. "He wouldn't hurt a fly. Literally."

"He won't kill bugs," Kayla shared, looking at me. "None of them. Not ants, not spiders, not flies..."

"Is he a total animal lover?" I asked. "Including bugs?"

The girls nodded. "He's even mostly vegetarian," Allie said.

"Mostly?" I asked.

"I've seen him sneak tiny bites of sausage once Kyle's cooked them in the morning." Rachel snorted and shook her head. "He can't resist. They're his weakness."

"You can't be mostly vegetarian," I protested.

"Apparently Noah can," Kayla sighed.

"Did you have a boyfriend back in Salem?" Allie asked me.

"No," I snorted. "Please. Do I look like girlfriend material?"

"Of course you do," Allie said. "You're pretty, you're nice, and you work hard."

"And you have a sense of humor in there somewhere," Rachel added.

"Well, no one in Salem saw what you see," I said, rolling my eyes. There was a short pause, and before it got the chance to turn into a long awkward silence, I spoke again. "I invited the Weasley twins to come tonight."

"You did?" the girls chorused at once. All of their eyes had gone wide as they looked at me.

I nodded. "I went to visit them this morning and stayed for a bit. Fred gave me a pygmy puff." I gestured over to my desk, where my new pygmy puff was huddled between my lamp and the wall, wedged perfectly under the lip of the windowsill.

"I didn't even notice her there," Rachel said.

"She's sleeping. And most likely hiding. She's not fond of people."

"Like you?" Kayla asked with a raised eyebrow.

"She likes people," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "She just isn't used to trusting many. _"You're_ the one who doesn't like people, Kayla."

"True," Kayla said with a nod.

"Does Fred talk to you about Percy at all?" Allie asked.

"Not really," I answered, shaking my head.

"Then what do you talk about?"

"Not much," I responded quickly, not sure how to avoid telling them about the diary.

"Ah," Kayla said. " _Not much_. Point taken." She made kissy faces in my direction and my face heated up instantly.

"We don't do that either," I protested.

"Then what do you talk about? You must like him at least a little bit since _you_ were the one to invite _him_ to your party."

"I invited George too," I pointed out.

Kayla flapped her hand around. "Yeah, I know. So you must like both of them enough to invite them. But why do I feel like you see more of Fred than George?"

"Why do I feel as if you're making something out of nothing?" I asked.

"Because you invited them to your party on your own!" Kayla argued. "You're the one who wants to distance yourself."

"I would've invited you three on my own too if Martha hadn't already." I shrugged. "Look, I just figured that since Martha had already put this together and I was already hanging around at the shop...why not, right?"

"Mhm, sure," Kayla said with a knowing grin.

Before I could retaliate, there was a knock on the door and Martha stuck her head in. "Noah and Kyle are here," she said brightly. "And dinner is almost ready."

"I can help set the table," I said, getting up.

"Nonsense! It's your birthday, darling."

"I don't mind," I said, crossing the room to her and giving her a small smile. "I should go say hi to Kyle and Noah anyway."

"Oh yes, go say hi to _Nooahh_ ," Rachel said, stretching out his name.

"Not so loud," I hissed, hoping Martha wouldn't start questioning me now, thinking that there really was something going on with me and Noah. She hadn't said much after I went out for ice cream with him, but I didn't know for sure what she'd do if she ever thought there was something truly serious going on.

I quickly slipped out of the room and down the hallway as Martha followed me. When I got to the kitchen, I saw Tom, Kyle and Noah standing there talking, each with a firewhiskey in their hand.

"Hey, birthday girl!" Kyle practically shouted when he saw me, making me nearly jump. He passed me an envelope with my name scrawled across the front. "Got you a card. It's very fitting for you."

Raising an eyebrow, I slid open the envelope and pulled out the card that was inside. It was clearly a child's birthday card, with lots of bright colors and a cartoon mouse on the front.

"Funny," I commented, looking up at Kyle with a smile. "Really humorous."

"Isn't it?" Kyle said.

I opened the card to see the words Happy Birthday printed in giant block letters. And underneath, Kyle had written a note.

"Happiest of birthdays to the coolest mouse I know," I read. "Thanks, Kyle."

"I was thinking of gifting you with an extra work shift while I took a day off, but Martha advised me that was a terrible idea."

"Most days, I'd rather do your job than waitress," I shuddered.

"Do you cook?" Noah asked me curiously. He passed me a small, gift wrapped box. "This is yours, by the way."

"Thanks," I said, taking it from him. "And yes, I do. I used to all the time back home."

" _Really_ ," Kyle said, his eyebrows shooting up. "Well, why didn't you ever mention that? That seems useful to bring up at a _restaurant_ , don't you think?"

"I think it has to do with the whole quiet thing," Tom said.

"Tomorrow you're cooking something for me, Mouse," Kyle said. "I want to see if you've been holding out on us."

I groaned. "And maybe that's why I never brought it up."

"It'll give you an excuse to stay in the kitchen for longer," Kyle pointed out.

"True." I held up the card. "Thank you, seriously, for the card." I turned to Noah's gift next and started ripping open the paper, revealing a plain rectangular black box. When I pulled open the cover, I smiled. Inside was a gift certificate to Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor.

"So you can have a few more banana splits on me," Noah said.

"Thanks, Noah," I giggled.

"How utterly _thoughtful_ ," a voice snickered from behind me. I turned to see Allie, Rachel and Kayla standing there, hiding giggles behind their hands. I swatted at Kayla with the gift certificate before I set both of my gifts down and began setting the table for dinner. I wondered where the twins were. It was a few minutes past six, so it wasn't late enough to be worried just yet, but for an instant, a bolt of fear shot through me that they wouldn't show. I thought I'd felt the capacity of all the hurt I could feel by this point and that if they did stand me up, it wouldn't really affect me. But it would, I realized. If they didn't show up, I would honestly be disappointed. I actually found myself glancing towards the door every few seconds.

Just as I was setting down the last utensil, there was a knock on the door and I froze for a second. They were here.

"It's your other boyfriend," Kayla hissed in my ear with a chuckle.

I turned beet red. "He's not. He's nothing," I hissed as Martha went to answer the door.

"I'm going to tell him you said that."

"Don't you dare."

I looked up as the twins entered the room, greeting everyone loudly and making the room feel ten times more lively-not that it wasn't already, but I'd noticed the twins always brought so much extra personality to the room.

I met Fred's eyes and he smiled at me. I smiled back shyly. It was strange, but the fact that I'd told him about the diary had not only made me feel a little better about the whole situation, but I liked that Fred and I shared a secret that no one else knew. It was something that real friends did. In fact, all of these people here were my friends. They had shown up tonight because of me. And it was making it harder and harder for me to want to leave.


	11. Chapter 11

"This has _got_ to be the best chocolate cake I have _ever_ had," George declared, gesturing with his fork to the slice of cake sitting on his plate. "Martha, why don't you sell this at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"She does," Rachel pointed out. "You just have to know to ask for it."

"I've never seen you boys or your friends actually bother with dessert," Tom pointed out. "Usually you just come for food and drinks."

"That's because we've never thought of it!" George protested, sticking more cake into his mouth.

"You've been missing out," I said quietly. "Martha's the greatest baker. She's been teaching me a lot, actually."

"Huh, interesting," Fred said. "I might invite _you_ over to bake for us once a week. Forget George doing it."

"I don't do that in the first place," George said with a roll of his eyes. "You're delusional."

"I'm sure your mother wouldn't protest to you boys learning how to cook a thing or two," Martha said knowingly. "I'll bet she's tried many times trying to spark an interest to no avail."

"Right you are," Fred said cheerfully.

"You know, if you can make all those potions you concoct for your products, I'm sure cooking wouldn't be too far off," I said.

"She's got a point," Tom chuckled as the twins looked at each other, clearly trying to formulate a comeback.

"Ah, see, you have no excuses," Martha said.

"I think Sophie _should_ take you up on your once a week cooking lesson offer," Rachel said.

"That's not what I offered," Fred muttered, but Rachel went on as if she hadn't heard him.

"She could use the social interaction and you could use the lessons."

"Rachel, please," I sighed, turning red. If she embarrassed me any more, I was going to kill her. That is, if I didn't die first.

"What?" she shrugged innocently. But I didn't miss the sneaky wink she sent my way.

"You know, I could really use some cooking lessons as well," Noah chimed in. "Want to teach me how to cook too?" He grinned.

"Oh, honestly," I sighed, letting out a quiet laugh of my own.

"Someone's jealous," Kayla teased with a snort as Noah tossed his crumpled up napkin at her.

"Hey, hey, behave," Martha said with a soft smile of her own. "I'm very glad everyone could come today," she added.

"Yeah, I agree. Thank you," I said. "This is truly the best birthday I've ever had."

"It didn't make you uncomfortable having all this attention?" Kyle asked.

"A bit," I admitted honestly, "but it was nice. I really appreciate you all being so nice to me. Thank you. All of you."

"What a nice speech," Kyle said. "Before you know it, you'll be publicly speaking in front of hundreds of people."

"Don't push it," I told him with a snort, leaning back in my seat and sticking a bite of cake in my mouth.

I had to admit, as reluctant as I'd been to have a birthday celebration, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I found myself forgetting about the diary and the strange woman in Diagon Alley. I suddenly was the normal girl with friends and a family. I wasn't the shy, quiet freak anymore. This is what it felt like to be normal and it felt really good. It was slowly becoming a sort of addiction and I couldn't believe that this is what I had been missing out on for so long, even if it hadn't been a choice.

Maybe it was a good thing I had gotten Fred involved with the diary. Maybe we could figure out this mystery together, put an end to my worry and then, just maybe, I'd be truly comfortable to stay here for good.

* * *

"Read any more of the diary yet?"

I looked up in surprise from where I had collapsed onto my bed. I had thought everyone had gone home for the night, but Fred was standing in my doorway, looking at me.

"I thought you and George had gone," I said, sitting up.

Fred shook his head. "George is downstairs with Kyle and Tom. Tom mentioned he learned a new drink recipe and they decided to be his first victims."

"You didn't want to try one?" I asked.

Fred shook his head, his eyes looking tired.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

Fred let out a long sigh and looked up at the ceiling. I sat perfectly still where I was on my bed, waiting for him to say something. I didn't want to push the issue, but he seemed off again, as if he'd fallen back into one of his low points.

"I got wasted two nights ago," he suddenly admitted. "And I don't think I'm physically ready to ingest anymore alcohol at the moment, no matter how much my mind is convinced it'll be fine as long as it gets me to stop _thinking_."

"Oh," I said, not sure how to react to that. I didn't feel as if I was very good at advice. I'd never really had to give it before. I'd certainly never been asked for it. "How often do you drink that much?"

Fred let out a puff of air as he shrugged. "After I was let out of the hospital, I was getting drunk at least four or five times a week. It put off me going back to work for even longer. I stayed in the flat all day. One day I trashed it. I was tempted to trash the shop, too, but I had to go and fall down the damn stairs." He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Verity heard the commotion and ran to the back room. She saw me lying there, my lip busted and blood dripping all over me and she freaked. She went and got George who sent me back upstairs and forced me into bed to sleep it off." He shrugged. "I just...it was a particularly tough day when I realized Percy had never gotten the chance to see the joke shop. He'd never gotten the chance to see all that George and I had done. He had never gotten to see all our hard work actually pay off." He swallowed. "It's funny...George and I butted heads with Percy the most out of all our siblings, but he was the one I wanted to impress the most. Because he was the _hardest_ to impress. And he never got to see any of it. He never got to _fucking_ see a thing!" He laughed dryly again and smacked his hand against my doorframe. "Every so often it's too much," he whispered.

"Understandably," I whispered. "Do you want to sit down?" I gestured to my desk chair, but Fred ignored my gesture and instead came to plop down beside me on the bed. He sprawled out on his back and stared at the ceiling, one arm behind his head and the other across his stomach. I sat stiffly beside him, gazing down at him wearily, waiting to see if he'd keep talking.

"Lately, I've only been getting drunk once, maybe twice a month," he said, turning his head to look at me.

"That's good," I said earnestly.

Fred snorted. "It's an improvement, but still shameful. I never should've been drinking that way in the first place."

"My foster father used to drink," I said quietly, staring down at my comforter. It was a lavender and white striped one that Martha had picked out for me. I traced my finger along one of the seams between the stripes. "Not every day...it was more like once a week. But he'd go drink with his friends every weekend and when he came home, he'd be pretty drunk. And he wasn't a nice drunk. He wasn't even nice sober, to be honest." I hesitated, still staring down at my comforter. "I told myself I'd _never_ get that drunk. Never let myself get to that point. But I did once and it felt horrible. It only made me know for sure that I not only never wanted to feel that way again, but I never wanted to act like a complete _fool_ around people."

"What happened to make you get drunk that one time?" Fred asked seriously.

I finally raised my eyes to meet his. "Some of the girls at school asked me to hang out with them during fifth year. I should've known better. They'd never been nice to me before. But I was so eager for friends that I naively thought they'd had a change of heart." I swallowed thickly, but managed to maintain eye contact with Fred. "We snuck into an empty classroom one Friday night. I was already practically high on the adrenaline of being out after hours and sneaking around with potential new friends. And then they broke out the alcohol. I knew it was wrong and I hesitated to drink any, but the other girls told me not to be such a _wimp._ They told me not to be such a _goody two shoes_. I was afraid of doing something to push them away. So I drank. And the more I drank, the easier it was to let them hand me one after the other. They'd ask, I'd say yes. They'd refill my cup, I'd drink it." I stopped as my chest and stomach constricted unpleasantly.

"What happened?" Fred asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"They led me down to the entrance hall, sat me on the steps and told me to wait. Then they left and never came back. I vomited all over myself and the floor. It seemed to go on forever. I could barely breathe and I was convinced I was going to die. But then I passed out and stayed there until the morning, where half the school discovered me on the way to breakfast."

Fred rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. "That's not right. _At all_. You threw up...If you'd been lying the wrong way, you could've-"

"I know," I interrupted curtly. "Trust me, I know. And I almost got expelled. I got a pass that time because it was only my first offense. I never broke the rules. And of course the first time I did, it was something huge. I'd never been so scared as I sat there in the hospital wing, a bucket beside me to catch the second round of vomit that eventually came up. I could hear the headmistress talking to the nurse out in the hallway before she came in to talk to me. I was mortified and scared."

"It wasn't your fault," Fred said. "They tricked you and put you in danger for a laugh."

"It wasn't even the first joke or prank they'd pulled on me. But I was so _stupid_ and lonely that I actually fell for their act of trying to be nice."

"Did you even rat them out?" Fred asked. "Or did you keep quiet?"

I shook my head. "I told on them. I didn't want to at first. I was afraid of what they'd do. But my headmistress knew I wasn't the type to sneak alcohol into school on my own or even get drunk on my own. She pressed me for names and I was more afraid of getting expelled for not spilling, so I told her. And they were even less nice to me than before."

"Why didn't you say anything to the headmistress? Or a teacher?"

"I wasn't going to bother the head of the entire school with my bullying issues."

"What about a teacher?" Fred asked.

I pursed my lips and looked away. "I don't want to talk about it," I said, instantly shutting myself down. To be honest, the amount of information I was so openly and easily giving Fred was starting to frighten me. I'd never been so vulnerable with someone, and so easily! It was starting to all be too much.

"Okay," Fred said after a moment. There was another pause. "What you must think of _me_ ," he finally said. "I make my living on selling prank items, I was constantly pulling pranks back in school, and now I get wasted regularly. I'm a combination of everything you hate."

"You're kindhearted," I said. "There's a difference, which I'm not quite sure I realized until I met you. I told you that I was weary of you at first. The jokes made me nervous. But you've never made fun of me. You don't pull pranks to hurt people or just to benefit yourself. You do it to make _others_ laugh. You do it to make other people's days a bit brighter. You do it because you love to see people smile. I don't think any of your products were invented with the idea of putting someone's life at risk in mind." I paused. "Were they?"

Fred shook his head.

"And I'm not endorsing drinking here or anything, but...it does make things feel different. If you're hurting...it's a temporary, false fix to your problems. But you know it's not the answer. And you're trying. It's not an easy thing to do."

"I'm not a mean drunk," Fred told me. "I don't try to hurt anyone. I'm just a bit _destructive_ to, well, things, I guess." He paused. "But I think that's because of the alcohol mixed with a lot of other terrible feelings. I'd gotten drunk before Percy...you know. And I was just more talkative, louder, rowdier. Only after the battle did I start acting destructive. Only then did I try to destroy my own _business_."

I sighed and shifted on the bed, mirroring Fred and lying down on my side, facing him. "It did scare me at first, you know. The fact that you own a joke shop, and then I got the sense that you and alcohol were pretty good friends..."

"How'd you pick up on that?"

"Remember at the Three Broomsticks? After you hit me in the head with the door? We were at the bar and you said you were feeling the alcohol, but needed another drink. And then George came over and stopped you."

"Ah, that's right," Fred said. He paused. "Did you happen to notice two of the people at the table I'd been sitting at that were kissing for quite a bit?"

"How could I _not_ notice?" I asked.

Fred snorted. "The girl was my ex-girlfriend. Angelina Johnson. And the guy was Oliver Wood, my ex-Quidditch captain and one of my good friends. Apparently they have a _thing_ for each other. In fact, Angelina dumped me, essentially for Wood, because I was an _alcoholic_."

"She said that to you?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not exactly," Fred shrugged. "What she said was that I had issues to sort through, I was going about it all the wrong way, and she didn't even recognize me anymore. And she said she didn't think she could help me if I didn't want the help." He sighed. "She told me that she'd developed feelings for someone else-wouldn't say who, but I eventually found out. Word travels and I have eyes. Anyway, then she dumped me and said she hoped I worked through everything. We'd been dating for three years."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Ah, what did I tell you?" Fred said with a small smile. "No pity. About anything."

"I don't pity you," I said. "I'm just...sorry."

"I'm glad you came to me about the diary," Fred said, changing the subject. "Like I said earlier, it feels good to have something new to focus on. Something to occupy my thoughts besides Percy and Angelina. It feels good to be helping someone instead of being the one who needs help."

I felt myself instantly deflate a bit inside. What was he saying? That I was a distraction to him and nothing more? That me and my problems were just a distraction from _his_ problems? The idea stung a bit. Especially after everything we'd just talked about. It truly was the most vulnerable I'd ever been with anyone and it was terrifying. I couldn't even stop myself. Fred's ability to share his worst experiences made mine just seem to float out from inside me. And for what reason? To comfort _him?_ To show him I could somehow relate to his experiences? To finally get all that horrible stuff all off my chest and tell the one other person I knew that had been through an incredibly tough time himself? I couldn't make sense of it. But the fact that Fred and I had already shared so much with each other had made me feel close to him and I barely knew him. My head was spinning. And then to find out that all this was to him was a way to distract himself.

But that was good, wasn't it? It still meant I was helping him to move forward, even if our relationship didn't seem as scary, complicated and exhilarating all at once to him as it did to me. Maybe it was because he had a group of close friends and a big family. He was used to sharing things with people. He was used to being close to someone and sharing secrets and telling someone what you're afraid of and about moments when you've felt ashamed of yourself. He had done this all before. I was nothing new. Just another person to listen to him.

"You okay?" Fred asked suddenly, jolting me out of my thoughts.

"Fine," I said, shaking my head.

Before Fred could answer, someone rapped on the open door to my room. It was George. "What do we have _here_? Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes," Fred said at once, grinning at me without rolling over to face the door. "Now if you don't mind, Sophie and I would like some privacy."

"Stop," I hissed, looking away.

"Stop," Fred mimicked in a whiny voice, scrunching his nose up and making a face.

I blushed, feeling a bit odd at the teasing. I reminded myself that Fred never meant it in a mean way. He just did it to be funny. He wasn't being mean to me.

"Come on, you big ugly git," George laughed, coming over and shoving Fred to a sitting position. "Say goodbye to Sophie and let's get you out of here."

Fred laughed along with his brother and then turned to me. "Bye, Soph. Happy birthday." His expression became serious again. "Thanks for the talk."

I nodded solemnly. "Anytime."

He reached over and patted my arm before getting up and heading out of the room. I looked up to see George smirking at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Talk?" George said. "What'd you talk about?"

I shrugged. "Just how utterly rotten life can be," I said.

George actually smiled. "So much for not talking about your feelings, huh?"

"Well we didn't exactly discuss feelings. We discussed situations, but not necessarily how we felt about them."

"Still, that part might've been obvious even if you didn't say it in words. For instance, you can see how Fred's dealing with Percy's death. That's a giveaway of his feelings without him having to say a word."

"I guess you have a point," I said.

George smiled. "I know I do. And thank you. For not pushing him away because of all this. It means a lot. To both of us."

I smiled as my throat constricted. "You're welcome."

"And happy birthday," George added quietly. "Thanks for inviting us over."

I nodded. "Of course. I enjoyed myself. Thank _you_ for coming."

"See you soon?" George asked, backing towards the door.

"See you soon," I repeated.

* * *

 _March 30th, 1692_

 _Poor little Dorothy. After she was taken into custody, she was examined for three whole days by the magistrates. They questioned the poor child relentlessly, demanding her to answer their questions about her and her mother's actions. Eventually, she broke down, most likely under the impression that if she forfeited some information, she would be let go._

 _She told them the truth. That her mother was a witch and could do magic. Obviously, the actual accusations were not true, but the magistrates never gave her the chance to speak about those. If they had, I'm not sure what she would have said. If she would have denied it or just told them what she thought they wanted to hear in order to be let go or in attempt to see her mother again._

 _The worst part of it all is that they did not charge her with anything, but instead they used her as another accusal towards her mother, and locked Dorothy up anyway. They did not even release her! I suppose they're afraid that, as a child, she won't be wise enough to not cause anymore trouble, but she did come forward and 'turn someone in', even if it was not technically of her own accord. There is no doubt that she was manipulated, frightened and bullied into saying what she said._

 _I can only imagine what being held in jail is doing to the poor girl. The longer she stays in that place, the worse the toll on her well being. And the only way it has been declared that she can be let go is if her father comes forward and pays her bail, which he most certainly cannot afford right now. I've begged John to give him some money, but he said it will make people suspicious. Even if it is an anonymous gift, we cannot afford anyone investigating where the money came from. Or what is worse, Mr. Good might even be accused of theft and thrown in jail as well._

 _Besides, John is right. We have been hearing rumors. John and I. We have been hearing that some of the younger girls-the same ones who have done most of the accusing so far-have started to whisper about John and I._

 _The girls stare at us in church, whispering behind their hands and giggling. I am sure Ann Putnam's father told his family just how outraged I was over Dorothy's arrest. The girls must know about how I had defended her. And defending an accused person, who also happens to be someone the town has rejected and refused to help even before now, does not look good to the others in town. They take it as some sort of betrayal. Almost an assumption that if I am not with them, I'm against them. I suppose that is the truth. I do not agree with any of this nonsense. But how can I speak out without putting myself in danger? I tried to defend Dorothy and she was locked up anyway, and soon I fear that I may be joining her. John seems to feel the same way. We are not very sure how much time we might have left together._

* * *

The last half of the final word of the diary entry was smudged, as if it had gotten wet. Probably with tears. Now that I looked closer, there were other smudges on the entry, smudging other parts of the ink. Some were on the outer margins, making the yellowed pages wrinkled in the way only water could do. A different sort of wrinkled than the age of the book.

I sat back in my desk chair and let a puff of air out of my nose as I stared back up at the ceiling. I was almost afraid to go on to the next entry. If there was one, that is. I knew how this was going to go. There was no doubt in my mind that Elizabeth was going to be arrested. I only wished I could remember more details about her from back home. Still all that was familiar to me was her name and I couldn't remember where I'd heard or seen it.

In any case, I was almost afraid to flip the page. I was afraid it would be empty and that would be it, leaving me to assume the worst: that Elizabeth had been arrested, convicted and killed. But even if there were another entry, it wouldn't necessarily mean good news. It would just mean she had managed to sneak her diary with her into jail. There were a few plausible options here and I wasn't sure which one I was hoping for.

It was the Sunday after my birthday and I had woken early, only to pull out the diary and read another entry. I usually found it difficult to read more than one entry at a time, and if I did, I was reading one major entry and one short entry that simply told me some basic information about Elizabeth's life in Salem so that way it still wasn't too overwhelming.

So far I'd found out that she and her husband ran a tavern in town, which was interesting because it was just like Tom and Martha. Some of Elizabeth's stories about working there made me smile, because even back in a completely different century, some of the same kinds of things happened to her that happened to us. Things that just came with the territory of working with people. Anything from the regular, friendly customers to rowdy ones. From what I could tell, though, Elizabeth had never fallen flat on her face or gotten alcohol splashed on her. It looked like that was just me. It also didn't look like she was ever too shy to handle anyone either. It sounded like she loved talking to her customers, but if there ever was a problem, she wasn't afraid to confront someone. I found myself admiring her and wishing I could be the same way.

I found her interesting to say the least. I liked her. Which made it even harder to continue reading, considering my suspicions of what went down back then.

Part of me wanted to go find Fred, but I ultimately thought better of it. I wasn't going to bother him so he could read one more entry in order to catch up to me. I'd have to force myself to read a bit more before I handed it off to him. Besides, today was Sunday. He'd be going to his family's house in another few hours.

So what was I going to do today? I looked at my watch. It was only ten past eleven. I knew Rachel was working a half shift today. She'd began work at six and worked until noon. Allie and Kayla were working later shifts, but at least Rachel would be free after twelve o'clock. Maybe she'd want to hang out. But what would we even _do_?

I shut the diary and hid it in the back of my closet again before stepping back and letting my eyes wander over my clothes. I flicked through the hangers one by one. Jeans, jeans, jeans, purple sweater, green sweater, maroon sweater, black shirt, white shirt, dark blue shirt. I sighed. Rachel was right. My clothes were plain. Most of them were plain, single colored items without a design, pattern or anything unique. Everything besides that maroon shirt with the lace I'd worn the night I'd gone to the Three Broomsticks, and now the sundress Rachel had gotten for me.

That wasn't even me. Not really. When I was younger, if it had been up to me, I would've picked more colorful clothes. I'd see things in stores that I liked. But it had never been up to me. I wore what I was given and it was always basic. And I eventually didn't have the energy to fight it, as if my spirit had become as drab as my wardrobe.

And now I had the freedom to choose my own clothes and wear what I wanted. No more second hand items or hand me downs. I could do what I wanted and I wasn't. I was doing what I was used to, for one thing. And for another, I had told myself this was more practical and functional. I didn't need anything but the basics. I didn't need the extra attention. Why bother making anything personal, even clothing, when I wasn't even going to be here long?

Shutting my closet door, I left my bedroom and made my way through the flat before taking the stairs down to the kitchen at a slight jog. When I entered, I saw Kyle, Martha and Tom busy cleaning up from breakfast and getting ready for lunch.

"Where's Rachel?" I asked.

"She's out finishing up with her last two tables from breakfast," Martha said, glancing at me. She turned to Tom. "Which reminds me, dear, Mr. and Mrs. Bernstein are supposed to be checking out of their room after they finish eating and then we have to get their room ready for another guest coming through this afternoon."

"I can do it," I offered. "Get the room ready, I mean."

"Sophie dear, it's your day off," Martha said, gazing at me wearily as she sighed. She smiled slightly and shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

I simply shrugged and looked down as I dug the toe of my shoe into the floor.

"I can handle the bedroom," Martha said. "It won't take long. Kyle can manage the cooking for a bit while I'm gone. Trust me, we'll manage." She looked at me curiously. "Did you make any plans for today?"

I hesitated. "I was going to ask Rachel if she wanted to go clothes shopping when she's done with her shift," I said. "I think I need something a bit...different."

"She'd love that!" Martha exclaimed.

"That's an understatement," Kyle muttered as Martha nudged him and Tom laughed.

"I'm so happy you're doing this," Martha went on. "I'm very proud of you."

"Does this mean you want to stay instead of running off and being homeless again?" Kyle asked as Martha swatted him and sent a menacing glare his way.

I shrugged one shoulder. "I always _wanted_ to stay, it was just a matter of if I should."

"Not for us," Martha said. "That's always been obvious."

"For you, maybe," Kyle butted in. "Not so much Tom."

"If you say _one_ more word," Martha scolded, "I'm sending you _home_."

"Terrifying," Kyle deadpanned, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

"Keep in mind, you'd lose nearly half a day's pay," Martha told him.

"Now _that_ is terrifying," Kyle said, looking at me with wide eyes. I smiled slightly.

"Listen to Martha and knock it off," Tom said with a small smile of his own. He squeezed my shoulder as he walked by me. "Rachel should be back any minute. She's just finishing up her tables."

I nodded and leaned backwards against the large, deep sink as I watched Kyle and Martha continue to work and I waited for Rachel. A moment later, she entered the room in a hurry, carrying a tray of dirty dishes. I moved out of the way and she deposited the dishes into the sink.

"Ugh," she groaned, turning around and putting her hands to her head. "That one customer sitting by the window is so irritating!"

"Mr. Sampson?" Martha asked. "The Healer from Glasgow that's here for a conference?"

"Sure, I guess, if he's the one who was sitting by the window," Rachel shrugged, lowering her hands. "He was so condescending! He was giving me advice on how to do my job. As if he knows anything about working in a pub. _You shouldn't carry so many dishes at once_ ," she mimicked. " _You shouldn't fill the juice glass that much. It'll spill_. It wasn't more than three quarters full! I had half a mind to refill his glass with only an inch of juice. And then he had the nerve to ask me what there was to do for fun around here once his conference was over and if I'd like to give him a tour of the area." She made a gagging sound. "Yeah, right! Besides, he must have been about forty!"

Martha clucked her tongue. "He's only here two more nights, but his check out date can't come fast enough. Honestly." She scoffed and fixed her apron.

"I had to say I already had plans for the next two days," Rachel said with a shudder. "Even though I completely _don't_."

"Well, actually," I said with a slight smile, "I was going to ask you if you'd like to go shopping once you're off work. I need some assistance with my wardrobe."

Rachel's eyes widened with surprise and glee. "Yes!" She squealed. "Thank you for officially saving my life. I've never been so grateful for a wardrobe that needed some help. And now I have a legitimate place to be. Not that it mattered..." She shrugged and glanced at her watch. "Half an hour until I get off and then I'm going to go change. I'll meet you back here at twelve fifteen?"

I nodded. "Okay."

"Great!" Rachel said enthusiastically. "This is going to be so much fun!"

And with that, she practically skipped out of the room.

I never knew shopping had the potential to be such hard work. Rachel and I had hit every clothing store in Diagon Alley and had now moved on to Hogsmeade. I was exhausted to say the least.

But on the plus side, I'd found some new clothes. Clothes that weren't just jeans and plain sweaters. Rachel had even coerced me into getting a few more casual dresses. I fought those the most, due to my fear of the scars on my back being revealed. But I was also afraid to fight them too much in case Rachel decided to pry. And there _had_ been some cute ones, I had to admit. So I had caved.

"How much do I have to absolutely _beg_ you to try this on?" Rachel called from a few feet away. We were in the first shop we'd come to in Hogsmeade and I was flipping through a rack of pants, while Rachel conquered shirts.

I looked up to see her brandishing a bright red halter top.

I shook my head forcefully. "Save your breath because it won't work. I'm not trying it on."

"Just to see how it would look!" Rachel protested. "I just want to see it on you. You don't have to buy it. Please?"

"You try it on," I said. "It would probably look better on you anyway."

Rachel sighed. "No, it would look just as good on you. Now that you've filled out a bit and aren't scrawny, of course. Your old wardrobe just didn't give people the opportunity to see how good you look because eighty five percent of your closet consisted of things that were half a size too big. At the very least."

"I'm not trying it on," I said. "It's not me. It would show too much skin."

"Which personally, you can afford to do," Rachel pointed out. "For reference, please refer to my last statement." She smiled wryly.

I shook my head. "I just don't really like to wear things like that."

"I've noticed," Rachel said. "Incredibly modest. But there's nothing wrong with that. Although, I do think that you can be modest without wearing jeans and sweaters all the time."

"I've learned," I said, holding up the shopping bags in my hands. Rachel smiled.

"I'm glad I could be of service," she said. She hesitated for a moment before holding the halter top up again. "So if you're sure you don't want to try this on, do you mind if I go for it?"

"I already told you that you should," I said. "Definitely go for it."

"Okay, cool," Rachel said breathlessly as she grinned and hurried towards the changing rooms in the back of the store. I smiled slightly and ambled after her, pausing every so often to look at clothes that caught my eye. I stopped at one table that was covered with various kinds of jewelry. Earrings, necklaces, rings, bracelets. Everything a girl could dream of.

"It's true what they say, isn't it?" a voice said from my left. "Diamonds really are a girl's best friend."

I looked up and saw a woman standing next to me. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a bun and crystal blue eyes. Her lips were coated with bright red lipstick. The same color as the halter top that Rachel was currently trying on.

The woman smiled at me as she fiddled with some of the jewelry on the table. "It's so hard to choose one thing when they're all so pretty."

"Mm," I agreed quietly, looking back down at the display.

"You know what would look great on you?" the woman asked. And without waiting for an answer she held up a necklace that consisted of a thin, dainty silver chain and a small teardrop shaped pearl pendant dangling from it. Simple, yet beautiful. It _was_ something I'd like. I hadn't even seen it on the table or else I'd have picked it up.

"It is pretty," I said. "But I'm sure it's out of my budget. A lot of the jewelry on this table seems to be slightly too expensive for me."

"Ah," the woman said. "Every girl needs at least one good piece of jewelry though, don't you agree?"

"Uh, sure," I said slowly, trying to subtly glance towards the changing rooms for Rachel. What was taking her so long? I wished she'd come back and spare me from this awkward small talk and from this woman trying to push jewelry on me. She didn't even work here, for Merlin's sake.

"Successful shopping day, then?" the woman asked, looking at my bags.

"Yeah, I guess so," I shrugged, glancing towards the changing rooms again.

The woman smiled widely. "Good, good," she said as she continued to smile at me.

Now feeling more uncomfortable than ever, it was a huge relief when Rachel appeared at my side, holding the red halter top and a few other items. "Sorry it took so long," she said, holding up the extra articles of clothing. "I couldn't resist." She looked past me at the jewelry table. "Ah jewelry!" she exclaimed. "I knew we were forgetting to look at something."

"These are all pretty much out of my budget," I said.

"I think we can afford to splurge a bit," Rachel said. "Every girl needs jewelry, doesn't she?"

"That's essentially what-" I turned to look for the woman who had been talking to me, but to my surprise, she was gone. I looked around the shop for her, but she was absolutely nowhere to be found. Odd.

"What were you saying?" Rachel asked.

"There was a lady here a second ago," I told her. "She said pretty much what you just said. She was showing me a necklace that she thought would look good on me."

"Which one?" Rachel asked.

I scanned the table for the pearl necklace, but couldn't find it. "It's not here," I told her. "Maybe she bought it for herself."

"What a tease," Rachel snorted. "She taunted you with it and then bought it for herself."

I rolled my eyes. "I probably wouldn't have bought it anyway."

"Killjoy," Rachel teased.

We spent a few more moments in the shop before Rachel purchased the clothes she wanted and we headed back out onto the streets of Hogsmeade. We visited a few more shops before stopping at the candy store and the Three Broomsticks for an early dinner. And then we headed home. Rachel stayed for a bit before heading back to her own place. I, on the other hand, headed to my room to unpack my new things and hang them in the closet.

Eventually, I had emptied the last bag and I swiped it off my bed to throw it away. I stopped in my tracks, though, when I heard something fall out of it and clatter to the floor. I looked down and my heart stopped. I bent down and gingerly picked up the fallen item, holding it between my fingers. The pearl necklace.

I couldn't believe it! That woman must have slipped it into my bag when I wasn't looking! I doubted she paid for it. And she had put it in my bag, which meant I'd be the one who got busted for shoplifting. I had to return it straight away. I couldn't get _arrested_.

I dashed down the stairs and out into the back alley, practically shaking with nerves. Once there, I hastily Apparated to Hogsmeade and began running towards the shop the necklace had come from. I got there just as the shopkeeper was closing and locking the door.

"Wait, please," I said breathlessly, resting my hands on my knees."

"We're closing," the woman said, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, I know," I said. "But-but-I was in your shop earlier with my friend and I think someone slipped this into my bag without me knowing. I wanted to return it." I held out the necklace towards her. She took it and examined it before holding it out to me again.

"This isn't one of our pieces," she said.

"Wh-what?" I sputtered, looking at her as if she had seven heads. "No, you must-I saw-" I broke off and stared at her. What _had_ I seen? I hadn't seen the woman pick the necklace up off the table. I had only first seen the necklace when it was already in her hand.

"I think I'd know what I sell in my own shop," the woman said. "I've never seen this before." She paused. "Maybe you bought it and forgot. Or maybe your friend bought it somewhere else as a surprise."

"Maybe," I said slowly, taking the necklace back when the shopkeeper held it out to me again.

"Have a nice night," she said, before turning and stepping back inside the shop, closing and locking the door behind her and leaving me standing outside in disbelief, the necklace clutched in my hand.


	12. Chapter 12

"If none of the shops you went in are claiming that necklace as theirs, then I don't see the problem with keeping it."

I turned and gaped at Fred after he spoke. It was nearly twelve-thirty in the morning, which meant it was almost closing time at the Leaky Cauldron after another typical Friday night. The twins had come in around eight thirty and seated themselves at the bar. I'd only had time to wave at them, but they'd waited until the pub cleared out before coming to sit at the table beside the one I was cleaning. It was then when I'd filled them in on my day with Rachel on Sunday, and the mysterious lady with the necklace.

"Fred," I said. "The last thing I need or want is to have some necklace that doesn't belong to me, whether it was stolen from a shop I went to or not. How do I know it wasn't stolen from somewhere else? How do I know she's not trying to pin her crime on me? Honestly, I should just throw the stupid thing into the ocean."

"Yeah, I mean, it could be cursed, too," George pointed out.

"Yes, exactly!"

"You probably shouldn't have even touched it until you knew for sure," George went on. "Trust me, you can't be too careful."

I paused. "You're right. That makes sense. But it's too late now. I've touched it and nothing happened. But something could happen if I were to wear it, or even if I keep it lying around..." I turned back to the table and began vigorously wiping it. "This is exactly why I've got to get out of here. I don't know what I was thinking. I _knew_ it wasn't smart to stay very long, but I-I let myself-" I broke off and took in a deep breath before tossing my dishcloth into the bin of dirty dishes and turning around, leaning backwards against the table.

"Let yourself what?" Fred whispered. "Let yourself start feeling what it's like to have _real_ friends and family? You let yourself start enjoying it? This is what it's supposed to be like, Soph. Friends are supposed to go shopping with you, celebrate your birthday with you...Family is supposed to be there for you and provide you with everything you need. You're not supposed to be afraid of them. You're not supposed to _run away_ from them."

"I know that," I said. "But that was my life and now I'm afraid that if I lose momentum for even a second, my past will catch up to me. And now, other people's lives are at risk. The more people I grow attached to, the more complicated this all gets."

"How could anyone from home find you?" Fred asked. "You said you moved around America a bit before coming here. How could they possibly track you down? How could they possibly know what location you were going to pick?"

"I know, and that was obviously the point of keeping on the move, but like I said, I'm afraid of what happens if I lose momentum."

"Well, you have to stop moving sometime," Fred said. "Also, is there a reason why anyone would mess with you like this instead of just outright confronting you?"

I hesitated as I thought that over. Fred had a point. I'd always been afraid to think of what would happen if my foster dad caught up to me. Not only had I succeeded in running away, but it was my second attempt. The scars on my back were an everlasting reminder of what had happened after my first try. So I'd always believed that if I was caught up to this time, I wouldn't survive it.

I shook my head in response to Fred's question before looking up at him wearily. "The only person I was ever afraid of following me was my foster father and I don't think he'd be hiding for this long if he had found me. He would've-well, he..."

Fred and George were silent as they looked at each other before looking at me.

"Sophie," Fred began quietly. "Even though you don't say much about your home life, I think George and I have been able to piece together enough at this point. You don't have to confirm or deny it and you don't have to go into detail. But it's starting to come together now. The fact that you ran away and you're afraid of being followed, the fact that you flinch every time someone makes a sudden movement towards you and that you're not a fan of being touched in general, the fact that you're withdrawn and secretive. I told you I suspected when I first met you that you'd been through something tough, but I wasn't sure what. And now I'm starting to get it."

"Fred, stop," I said, gritting my teeth and looking away.

"Like I said, you don't have to respond, but I want you to know that if anyone _is_ coming after you, they're going to have to go through us first."

I looked up in surprise and met Fred's eyes from where he was lounging sideways in the wooden booth, one arm resting on the back of it and the other resting on the table, his legs stretched out in front of him. He was staring back at me, a hard, determined look on his face.

"No one's ever said anything like that to me before," I said quietly.

"One thing you should know about me and George," Fred went on, "is that we will _always_ defend our friends by doing _whatever_ it takes."

My throat constricted at his words and I turned and looked away, unable to speak. I heard Fred and George stand up from the booth and tried to quickly compose myself.

"If you'd like," George said, turning towards me, "we can have Bill look at the necklace for curses and jinxes. He's good at that sort of thing considering it's his _job_ and all." He smiled wryly.

"Right...I remember him talking about being a Curse Breaker when I met him before," I said. "He mentioned that he used to be in Egypt, but eventually came back."

Fred nodded. "He was breaking old curses that surrounded the treasure buried in tombs. But eventually he did come back and took a job working right in Gringotts and dealing with cursed objects. So he's trained in finding out not only _if_ an object is cursed, but what curse it is and how to remove it. So there's no better person to check that necklace."

"That would be great, actually," I told him.

"There is one condition, though," Fred said with a smile.

"What's that?" I asked.

"You have to come with us to the Burrow on Sunday," Fred said. "That way you can be there and hear what he has to say yourself."

"Okay," I said after a pause.

"What, you don't like our family?" Fred asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

"No, it's not that," I answered quickly, a slight blush coloring my cheeks. "It's just that the last time I came over, it didn't go so well..."

"Ah, well, that was mostly my fault," Fred said with a smile. "I promise not to jump into the pond fully clothed again."

"Don't joke," I said quietly. "It wasn't really all that funny."

"No, I suppose not," Fred answered, his smile fading.

"I'll come over on Sunday," I said after a moment. It really didn't require much thought. As I'd said, it had nothing to do with Fred's family. They had been very nice when I'd first met them. The thing that had been difficult was the fact that Fred had gotten upset. But I couldn't blame him. Besides, I couldn't find out about Percy a second time. I already knew. So I couldn't see any reason for issue or discomfort on anyone's part.

"Excellent," Fred said, nodding. "Meet us at our flat at noon? We can go to the Burrow together."

"Sure."

"My family will be happy you're coming," Fred added. "They liked you."

"Can't see why. I was so quiet the last time I was there."

"Exactly," Fred chuckled. "It was a refreshing change of pace from the usual. We're a rather loud lot normally in case you didn't notice."

I gave him a brief smile. "Okay, so Sunday at noon, then."

"Sunday at noon," the twins repeated.

* * *

 _April 2nd, 1692_

 _I have just found out some good news-although I doubt it is good enough to keep all the worry at bay indefinitely._

 _I found out this morning that I am expecting a child. I was beginning to suspect, but I confirmed it today. I am only about two weeks along and due around the new year._

 _I had stayed home from the tavern due to the fact that I was feeling under the weather. I hadn't been able to keep anything down for a few days. I wanted to rest, but John and I have a tavern to run and I was weary about leaving my duties unattended to. But John insisted I stay home. I sat in bed for about two extra minutes than usual, and all the while, my thoughts were running wild. And then I got an idea._

 _I headed straight for the secret room my grandmother had built. The one that can only be accessed by her blood relatives and where I am able to practice all my magic in secret. At one point, I thought this room would be a sort of lifesaver. I'd never get caught this way. But it has become clear that one does not have to be caught actually performing magic in order to be accused these days._

 _In any case, I used an old detection potion my grandmother and mother had both used to confirm their pregnancies. It is quite simple, really. All it takes is one drop of the potion in a steaming cup of herbal tea and depending on what you taste, you will know whether or not you are carrying a child. The sweeter taste means you are, and the bitter taste means you are not. I had three cups of tea to be sure. They all tasted sweet as honey._

 _I don't know how long I sat there, just processing the information, but soon I could hear the footsteps of Mary Warren, our servant girl, above me in the kitchen and that jolted me out of my thoughts. I snuck upstairs quickly, making sure to check that she was still in the kitchen and not paying attention. She knows nothing about that secret room and must never find out. She has already been stirring up trouble as it is, such as when she joined the other girls in claiming that Tituba put a spell on them._

 _I told John the news over dinner. He was so happy. The look on his face...I had not seen him smile that wide for a long while. But then it faded._

 _"Lizzie," he whispered. "I fear that we've picked a terrible time to expect a child."_

 _And as excited as I was, I agreed with him._

 _"The good news," he told me, "is that if you are accused, they will not kill you if you are with child."_

 _"But you, on the other hand..." I muttered._

 _John just nodded solemnly._

 _"And once I give birth..."_

 _He nodded again. "It will only simply buy some time."_

 _"And what about the baby?" I asked, fear beginning to take over my insides completely, sucking away any happiness and excitement that had been blooming inside me like a garden since this morning._

 _"Hard to say," John answered._

 _I buried my head in my hands and let out a deep sigh. A moment later, I felt John's lips on the top of my forehead._

 _"I'll make some tea," he whispered._

 _Shortly after, I was drinking my fourth cup of tea that day, and unlike the others from that morning, this one had never tasted so bitter._

* * *

On Sunday, I stopped by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes a little earlier than I was expected, clutching both the diary and the necklace in my hands. I had read the diary entry about Elizabeth's pregnancy that morning and I wanted to let the twins get caught up before we headed over to the Burrow. Fred had asked me before if George could read the diary as well and after some thought, I'd agreed. So I figured today was as good a day as any to let them both catch up to me.

I stood at the front door of the shop, unsure of just how I was going to get the twins' attention. The shop was closed, the lights were off and the door was locked. If I knocked, I was sure that they wouldn't hear me from all the way up in their flat. But I supposed it was worth a try. I reached out and banged on the door as loudly as I could.

A second later, a window on the above floor slid open and Fred stuck his head out. "Hey! I'll be right down!"

"Okay," I said in slight surprise, but I wasn't sure he had heard me, considering he was pulling his head back inside and shutting the window. I was even more surprised that he'd heard my knock.

I waited for another moment or two before I could see Fred jogging towards the door from the back of the darkened shop. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, letting me inside.

"Hi, how've you been?" he asked.

"Erm...fine, I guess," I said, looking around the shop as he locked the door again. It was odd seeing it this dark and quiet. As freaked out as all the color, noise and commotion had initially made me on my first visit, I actually thought I hated the dark and silence more. It didn't feel right.

"Just fine?" Fred asked, turning away from the door and facing me with a small smile.

I shrugged. There was silence between us for a second before I raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with being fine?"

"Nothing," Fred answered. "Fine is...fine." His mouth twitched up into a smile and even I had to giggle.

"Come on, let's head upstairs," Fred said, tilting his head towards the back of the shop.

He led me into the back room and up the stairs in the corner.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked. "I knocked, but I doubted you would hear it. I didn't know how else to let you know..."

"Ah, just a little security feature that George and I installed," Fred said, opening the door to the flat and letting us in. The door opened up to the living room and as Fred led me inside, he pointed to a set of wind chimes hanging in the corner. "Whenever someone knocks or touches the door, the wind chimes are charmed to ring. So that way, George and I can look outside and see who's here." He paused. "We thought it was a nicer sound than an alarm. Everyone was a little more jumpy after the war, especially people like my family."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Blood traitors," he answered, taking a seat on the couch. He gestured for me to sit down as well and I gingerly lowered myself down on the other end of the couch.

"Oh," I answered. I knew what blood traitors were. We had the exact same term in America, too. Not all of the terminology was the same between the two countries, and I was learning that since I'd been here, but blood traitors was a horrible term used in both places.

"We were targeted more so than others," Fred continued. "We were always talked down to by some of the other pure blood families. The ones that thought they were better. I'm sure you know the type. But it all got worse when You-Know-Who started gaining power again. We had to go into hiding for a few months at one point. It was pretty rough on not only business, but just on our every day lives as well. We were all cooped up together in my great aunt's house and we were already stressed and scared enough as it was, so we lashed out at each other more often, but we always made up really quickly. We're close anyway, but there was also the fact that any of us could be dead by the following day, despite being in hiding..." He trailed off and cleared his throat. "Ron was on the run with Harry and Hermione, trying to destroy You-Know-Who, so naturally we were worried about him. And Percy..."

"He wasn't with you?" I asked. "When you went into hiding?"

Fred shook his head. "He walked out on us the summer before my and George's seventh year. Didn't talk to us or anything until the night of the battle. He showed up out of nowhere, apologizing and saying he'd been wanting to come back for a while, but the Ministry were locking people up for things like that." He paused. "The entire time he was gone, I was so angry, I thought I'd _never_ forgive him. Ever. But the second he showed his stupid, freckly, glasses-clad face, I wasn't mad anymore. I believed what he said and I forgave him. And then..."

I didn't say anything. I knew what Fred was trying but struggling to say.

"You don't have to tell me," I finally said.

Fred let out a long sigh through his nose and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands, his long fingers stretching up the sides of his face, into his hair.

It was silent for a moment and I sat stiffly where I was, unsure of what to say or do. And finally...

"My parents both left me," I finally blurted out. "My dad when I was just a baby and my mother when I was five. I _never_ thought she would. So I know what it's like when people willingly leave you. The thing is that my parents _chose_ never to come back. I've never heard from either of them since. For all I know, they _could_ be dead."

"Are you going to tell me I should be thankful Percy came back at all?" Fred said, his tone almost bitter. He had raised his head but was still staring at a spot straight ahead, not at me.

"No," I said. "But I was going to say you're lucky. Even though you lost him for good...he came back before that happened. He chose you. You still get to have that peace of mind. My parents might be dead and as far as I know, they didn't choose me. I don't even know if they love me."

"They must have," Fred whispered, finally turning to look at me blearily, his eyes squinted in bewilderment. He sounded so innocent that I had to let out a quiet giggle.

"I know virtually nothing about my dad. He left before I was one. My mom didn't say much about him except for the fact that it wasn't my fault that he left. And then when I was five, my mom hastily pulled me out of bed in the middle of the night, some of my things already packed...and she quickly hustled me out the door and brought me to the museum she worked at. And then she told me she had to take care of some things and that she'd come back. But she never did come back. So, as you know, I ended up in foster care until recently. Nearly sixteen years of foster care and no one ever wanted to adopt me. No one ever chose me. And my mother never came back."

Fred dropped his gaze from my face as he slowly rubbed his jaw. "Maybe she couldn't," he said.

"I've considered that," I said. "A lot, actually. Because we were _so_ close. I couldn't imagine her leaving and I was so heartbroken. I cried all the time. I missed her. At the time, I thought she didn't love me anymore and that feeling lasted for years. I just wish I could've known _why._ Why she left, why she never came back, what happened to her. I feel like I don't know a single thing about where I came from or who I am. I want answers and I don't have any and don't know how I'd even go about getting them. My point is that I know what it feels like to be walked out on. And I always dreamed of the day my mother would come back and take me away from my foster home."

"How long were you in your last foster home?" Fred asked.

"Since I was eleven," I said. "Almost ten years. From age five to age eleven, I bounced around. I was in one foster home from ages five to seven, another from seven to eight, another from eight to nine, and another from nine to eleven. They were pleasant enough, but there was always some reason why they couldn't keep me. Once it was many kids to handle and they realized only after they took me in. Another time the foster dad died and the foster mother couldn't take care of the four of us kids on her own. In my third foster home, the parents' biological child hated me. Complained incessantly about me. Accused me of being mean to her. Once she jumped off the jungle gym in the backyard, broke her arm and accused me of pushing her. So I had to go. And in the fourth foster home, they decided I was too quiet and antisocial. I was too odd. So I left again and ended up in the one I just ran away from. I didn't understand why _they_ didn't give me away. At least for a while. And then I kind of figured it out. At least I think so."

"Yeah?" Fred said.

"Foster parents get a certain amount of money from the government to spend on their foster children. And let's just say that there wasn't much money being spent on us."

Fred stared at me, his mouth slightly agape.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my face heating up as I looked away. "Too much."

"No..." Fred swallowed. "It's not. I'm just processing it. Processing that people can actually do something like that."

"Are you really surprised?" I sighed. "You've had all those encounters with actual Death Eaters. Sneaky people really aren't much of a surprise."

I glanced over at him to see his expression but before either of us could say anything else, George appeared at the end of the hallway, a pair of shoes in his hands.

"Hey," he said to me, plopping down on the couch between me and Fred and beginning to put on and tie his shoes. He looked up and glanced between me and Fred. "What's going on out here?"

"Nothing," Fred said, clearing his throat.

"There's a lot of tension in this room right now," George said, "and if you don't tell me why, I'm going to just assume it's sexual tension."

"We were talking about Percy leaving us for the Ministry, you prat," Fred said after a beat, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Ah," George said knowingly, nodding as he finished with his shoes and stood up. "That makes sense. It's a very tense subject in our family, second to him, you know, _dying_."

Fred flinched, something George and I both noticed, but neither of us commented on. Instead, George turned to me.

"Ready to meet my family...again?"

I nodded. "But before we go..." I held up the diary and looked at both of them. "I think if we're all going to be in on this, we should all be on the same page. Literally."

Fred smiled. "Excellent, I've been waiting to read more entries. Anything juicy happen lately?"

"Read for yourself," I said, "and let George get caught up as well."

"Do you mind if we keep it overnight then?" Fred asked. "That way we don't have to rush."

I hesitated for a moment. As odd as it sounded, I felt funny being separated from the diary. I'd become weirdly invested in it over the past few months. And yet, I found myself telling Fred, "Sure."

I set the diary on the coffee table and continued to stare at it for a moment.

"Ready?" Fred asked hesitantly.

I looked up again and nodded. "Yeah, let's go."

"Got the necklace?" George asked.

"Of course."

"Then let's get out of here and go check for some curses."

* * *

I was greeted by Fred and George's family just as warmly as I had the first time I'd been there, which was only slightly surprising. The last time had been so awkward, I was almost expecting this time to be different. But then again, nothing that had happened last time had anything to do with me.

The same group of people who had been at the Burrow before were here now, but in addition, George's girlfriend, Katie, was there and she and I were officially introduced. I'd seen her from afar that day at the Three Broomsticks, but today was the first time seeing her up close. She was pretty, with warm, light brown eyes and a friendly, award winning smile.

I kept the necklace stored in my pocket, waiting on Fred and George's cue. I didn't want to immediately bombard Bill with it the second we arrived. And I was going over in my mind the most tactful way to bring it up. And then there was the fact that I also didn't want to do it in front of the entire family, plus Katie, Hermione and Harry. I felt more comfortable waiting until Bill was alone, which seemed impossible what with all the people that were here.

"What are you so lost in thought about?" Fred whispered during dinner.

"Hm?" I asked, snapping out of my train of thought and looking at him as if I had only just noticed he was there.

"I'm pretty sure your eyes were just glazing over," he said with a smirk. "You were just kind of staring down at your plate without moving, aimlessly dragging your fork through your potatoes. Either you hate my mother's cooking, which I know for a fact is impossible, or you're deep in thought. So what's on your mind?"

"You really have to ask?" I muttered, turning back towards my plate of food. I actually scooped up a forkful of potatoes this time and stuck them in my mouth. Fred was right. It was definitely impossible to hate Mrs. Weasley's cooking, and I'd only had it twice. I'd even go as far as to say it was better than the food served back at Ilvermorny, and that was saying something because that food had been pretty incredible.

"Well, it's hard to pinpoint one specific thing. No offense, but I'd say you have a lot going on at the moment. The diary, the necklace, the mystery woman, your fear of being followed...and not to mention all the baggage you had before you came here."

I glanced over at him and he must have seen the flash of hurt in my eyes, because he frowned.

"Hey, come on, I said no offense."

"People only say that before they say something offensive," I whispered.

"Do you know from experience?" Fred asked quietly.

I nodded, but didn't elaborate.

Fred was quiet for a moment. "Just remember, I don't mind your baggage."

I shrugged. Of course not. All this was was another adventure to him. Something to do. A task to keep his mind occupied so he wasn't losing himself in memories of his dead brother. It was still a bit hurtful to remind myself of that and I hated that I was hurt. I'd experienced so much deceit, so many jokes and pranks and teasing back at home. I'd been used before and I'd been made a fool of. But I'd thought that over the years I'd numbed myself to it the best I could. I learned to expect it from most people, and some more than others. But thinking that I was just a distraction to Fred hurt so much more than I expected.

"Where's the necklace?" Fred asked.

"In my pocket. Why?"

"Hand it over," Fred answered, holding out his hand. "I'll deal with asking Bill about it, that way you don't have to worry."

I swallowed as my hand tentatively went to my pocket. "What are you going to say to him?" I asked.

"I'll just tell him the truth. That some woman snuck this necklace into your bag, it doesn't belong to the shop you were in, and you want to see if it's cursed."

"But what if he asks questions?"

"You can be there with me if you'd like," Fred said. "To control the conversation if it gets too weird. I just figured I'd handle the actual asking if you were too nervous."

"What makes you think I'm nervous?" I asked.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Are you not?" he asked, his tone mockingly innocent.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. "Of course I am. I've been thinking about how to bring it up all day."

Fred chuckled. "Leave that to me," he said, "and hand over the necklace."

I dug into my pocket and pulled it out before handing it to him.

"You know, I hope it's not cursed," he commented lightly.

"Why do you say that?" I asked. "You want to wear it yourself? It would look dashing on you."

Fred laughed. "No, I was going to say it would look great on _you_. But clearly someone's feeling bold tonight. Making all these jokes."

I shrugged. "I have a personality, you know. Just because I'm shy, doesn't mean I'm dull."

"I never said that," Fred replied. "I'm also going to take a guess and say that you didn't get much of a chance to showcase your personality until now. Again, you don't have to confirm or deny. Or even elaborate. I'm just trying to piece together who you are."

"You and everyone else," I said with a sigh, going back to swirling my fork through my potatoes. "Although...I must admit. The fact that you don't constantly ask outright questions helps. Maybe that's why I'm more forthcoming with you. More than I've been with anyone else. Besides Tom and Martha. And they only know my story because they made me tell them."

"And I still don't know all the details," Fred said.

"Which is fine with you, isn't it?" I asked. "Weren't you the one who said you didn't want to be a two person support group?"

Fred hesitated. "Yeah," he finally whispered. "I guess I did."

Once we'd finished eating, I instinctively began helping the others clear dishes from the table and bringing them to the kitchen, taking as many as I could carry and even using my wand to levitate more in front of me.

"What are you doing, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked with a sigh and a slight smile.

"Helping?" I said hesitantly.

She smiled. "Don't worry about it, Sophie. Let me do it."

"I don't mind," I said, depositing the dishes in the kitchen. "I'm so used to doing it at work."

"Well, you're not working today," she said. "You're a guest here." She immediately took to the sink, while Bill and Fleur took up drying and putting away and Ginny, Ron, Harry and Hermione finished bringing in dishes from outside.

"You have quite the system going already," I commented, leaning against the counter.

Mrs. Weasley glanced over her shoulder at me. "Many, many family dinners as practice to get this going," she said. "What's your family like? Any siblings?"

"Mum," Fred suddenly said, coming into the room, shaking his head slightly.

"It's okay," I said, as Mrs. Weasley looked at her son in surprise and confusion. I turned back to her. "I don't usually like talking about my home life. At all." I swallowed. "My parents both left me. I grew up in foster care."

Mrs. Weasley's mouth dropped open. "Oh, I am so sorry! I didn't know. You poor thing, that must have been so hard for you."

"Mum, that's exactly the kind of response she hates," Fred said firmly, a slight frown on his face. "The pity response."

"It's alright," I found myself saying hastily. "She didn't know." I looked at Mrs. Weasley and smiled slightly. "He's right in saying I don't like people to feel sorry for me, though. It is what it is and I don't want to be seen as pathetic or..." I shrugged and sighed. "I don't know, breakable? Incapable? Less of a person because I've been through some stuff."

"No one thinks that," Mrs. Weasley assured me. "The experiences people have-good or bad-never make them _less_. In fact, those experiences _add_ to who you are. They've made you more capable and they've made you stronger and wiser. And just because someone sympathy or sorrow for you doesn't mean they think less of you-it could just mean they're reacting to what you've been through. Because there are some things that no human being should ever have to go through and being deserted by your parents is one of them."

I stared at her, almost in wonder, for a moment. I'd never thought of it that way. I'd always been worried about people feeling sorry for me in such a way that made me feel pathetic or diminished, but I never thought that they could be sorry because they cared.

"Go on," Mrs. Weasley said, looking at me kindly. "Go spend some time with the others. Get to know them."

I nodded and gave her a fleeting smile before turning to Fred, who was watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow.

"You okay?" he whispered as we headed back outside and towards the makeshift Quidditch pitch across the yard.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Your mother's sweet. And very wise."

"Yeah, I suppose she is," Fred answered, digging his hands into his pockets and gazing up at the sky.

"Don't take her for granted," I told him.

Fred didn't answer, but he looked as if he were lost in thought as we finally reached the Quidditch pitch.

A game started up pretty much right away. It was one I was content to watch from the sidelines. I thought the Weasleys were okay with that as well, until I was pestered to join them. Even my argument that I'd never been on a broom didn't deter them. Instead, they gave me an extremely interesting flying lesson. I'd never had so much advice thrown at me from so many different people before. And not all it was unanimous advice. A few times, disagreements broke out between two of them and a debate would ensue, while I shakily tried to hover beside them on my broom and not tip over.

Once my mini flying lesson was over, I happily watched from the sidelines with Fleur and Hermione while the others played a second game. I was actually glad for the girls' company. It was less awkward and uncomfortable than having to stand on the sidelines alone. The only thing was, I didn't know if I should talk to them or not. Or even what I should say. But luckily, I didn't have to worry because Fleur spoke first.

"So how long do you plan on staying here?" she asked casually as she leaned against the nearest tree.

I shrugged. "Not sure. There was never any definite plan, but I always knew I wouldn't be staying long. All I'm doing is traveling and trying to earn some money and get on my feet."

"Traveling, huh?" Fleur asked with a small smile. "Tell me, 'ave you visited France yet?"

I shook my head. "This was my first stop after leaving America. And I'm having a hard time leaving."

Fleur laughed. "Tell me about it. I had zee same problem." She gestured upwards towards Bill. "And now 'ere I am. Still haven't left." She paused. "If you ask me, eet is zee red 'air."

I smiled. "You sure it wasn't the fang earring that drew you in? Because that's a pretty interesting feature."

Fleur snorted. "I do like the earring," she admitted.

"Mrs. Weasley's been trying to get him to cut his hair and remove the earring for _years_ ," Hermione said. "I think it's so interesting that a family so big can be so _different_. They all have things that they're good at and things they like and different personalities. Fred and George are funny and they love making people laugh, Bill loves adventure, Charlie's the animal lover, Ron's an _insane_ chess player, and Ginny is this great example of being athletic and girly at the same time. She'll dive into a puddle of mud trying to save the Quaffle during a Quidditch match, but then she'll turn around and circle every pair of shoes she likes in _Witch Weekly_ magazine."

"What was Percy like?" I asked after a second, noticing Hermione hadn't mentioned him.

"He was the smart one," she said quietly. "Well, I shouldn't say that. They're all smart. But he was the stereotypical bookish one. Very ambitious. Studied hard, worked hard. He even had horn rimmed glasses that naturally made him look scholarly. He was Head Boy and Prefect at school and he loved it. I don't see anything wrong with it, but Ron and the twins always clashed with him and teased him for it."

"Did you know Percy?" I asked Fleur.

She shook her head. "Not very well. I never officially met him. He didn't even come to mine and Bill's wedding."

I winced. "No?"

She shook her head. "He walked out on the family two years before the wedding and didn't come back until...nine months later."

"Fred told me that."

She nodded slowly. "I first left France to compete in the Triwizard Tournament being held at Hogwarts," she said. "Percy was a replacement judge for his boss, Barty Crouch. I thought he seemed so pompous. He thought he was so important, filling in like that. Of course, I didn't even know Bill, then, never mind that Percy was his brother. I told myself there must be more to Percy than I'd originally seen, but sadly, I never got the chance to really get to know him." She paused. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry, I try not to pry or be too curious. Especially since I hate when people ask too many questions about me. I'm not really a fan of sharing. But...I just want to know what he was like. I can't help but be curious about him, no matter how hard I try not to be. This whole thing's really messed Fred up."

Hermione nodded. "He and Percy were never really that close, but they were still brothers. And I think it's a little bit of survivor's guilt as well. He was really bad for a while. But he's been getting better. Somewhat." She hesitated. "George says he spends a lot of time with you."

I shrugged and instantly shot her down. "It's nothing. We usually just kind of bump into each other."

Fleur and Hermione looked at each other. "Do you typically just _bump into people_ at their family's _house_?" Fleur asked. "Or at their flat, where they _live?_ "

I smiled. "Okay, well maybe not those instances, but also, their business is right below where they live."

"You can't randomly bump into someone at the business that they own either," Fleur pointed out. "You two spend a good amount of time together and I wonder if it's actually going to be good for Fred."

"That's what George seemed to think. Someone new for him to talk to. Someone who hadn't known him beforehand. Someone who didn't have any prior expectations for him to always be funny. He seemed to think Fred would talk to me and get everything off his chest. Since I guess I'm some neutral third party observer or something and wouldn't necessarily treat him like he's crazy or damaged or breakable. And because I've been through my own share of stuff. But it's not the same kind of stuff that Fred's experienced. We're still plenty different..."

"But do you _talk_ to him about it?" Fleur asked.

I groaned. "Merlin, it's like word vomit! Stuff comes out that I swore I'd never talk about. Stuff I was afraid to even _think_ about. I still haven't told him everything about me, just like he hasn't told me everything about him, but he'll usually share something and then I can't help it-I end up sharing something in return and I don't know why!"

"I think for a few reasons," Hermione said. "I think it's almost natural for people to open up about themselves when someone else does it first. You've both been holding in a lot of stuff and George did have a point...there's no expectations from either of you. Fred might think that if he comes to a family member, they'll hover or cry or get emotional because they're his family and most of us have already been plenty emotional over the last year for reasons involving him and also for reasons not involving him. Like you said, you only just met Fred. You aren't that tied emotionally to him." She paused. "Yet."

I considered for a moment telling them that Fred knowing more about me than pretty much everyone else already had me feeling unusually comfortable around him-something that had never happened before. And it felt like it was all happening too fast. So fast that I was almost frightened. I hadn't had many relationships like this before-less than five to be honest. I didn't have relationships where I could feel close to someone and tell them things. Hermione's use of the word _yet_ brought that fear back. I _was_ getting emotionally attached to Fred. He was one of the first real friends I'd made besides Kyle, Noah, Rachel, Allie, and Kayla. But he was the first and only person I'd been so open and honest with and that was messing with me. I kept wondering to myself... _why him_?

Before I could decide whether or not to open my mouth to Hermione and Fleur, the others were landing their brooms and, trekking towards us. I saw the twins toss their brooms at Ron, announcing they voted him to put them all away in the broom shed. Ron frowned in displeasure, but took everyone's brooms anyway. I saw Hermione smile slightly and go over to help him, planting a light kiss on his cheek.

"Did you see that _amazing_ save I made when George tried to get the Quaffle past me?" Bill asked Fleur breathlessly as he reached us and threw an arm around her shoulders.

"Of course I did," she answered. "Brilliant job."

I smiled slightly, knowing she most likely hadn't seen anything.

"Yeah, yeah," George muttered, "so amazing. We get it...you love yourself, you bigheaded prat."

Bill leaned over and lightly punched his arm as George darted out of reach and laughed.

"So what'd you think?" Fred asked me with a smile.

"Of what?" I asked as we began walking back towards the house. Katie had caught up to us as well by then, and George was giving her a piggyback ride while she giggled and kissed his cheek.

"The match," Fred clarified. "What'd you think of the match?"

"Oh...uh..."

"You weren't even watching, were you?" he snorted.

"No, sorry," I answered honestly.

Fred sighed heavily. "Maybe I am losing my touch. I always thought girls couldn't resist watching me play Quidditch. You know, it takes a lot of physical strength to balance on your broom and also hit those heavy Bludgers away with a bat. And even if you're playing Chaser, like I was today-"

"Oh shut up, Fred," Fleur laughed from behind us. "Leave the poor girl alone. Trust me, the _last_ thing she wants is a description of how strong you are."

"You have a point," Fred said. "She can see that for herself." He flexed his arm and smiled widely as I snorted and looked away.

"He sounds a lot like his old self," I heard Bill whisper to Fleur from behind us. I bit my lip and glanced at Fred, wondering if he'd heard as well. He had, because I saw him stiffen slightly and he fell instantly quiet. He dug his hands into his pockets and stared straight ahead. George seemed to notice as well. I saw him looking at his twin before turning to walk backwards so he could face Bill.

"Hey, Bill," he said, "you're a Curse Breaker, right?"

I froze as my heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my throat. This was happening. George was going to ask Bill about the necklace.

Bill sighed. "However did you guess?" he said sarcastically. "It wouldn't be because it's my _career_ , would it?"

"No, I just thought you were going to Gringotts every day because you felt right at home with all those goblins."

"Oh, hush," Fleur told George, swatting his arm.

"Why are you asking?" Bill raised an eyebrow at George. "What'd you do?"

"I haven't done anything," George said. "It's Sophie here who needs your help."

I could have kicked him. What a way to make me look like I was trouble. I was beginning to see what Hermione meant about the older Weasley siblings (plus Ginny) getting most of the tact. Was there really no smoother way to bring this up?

Bill and Fleur had stopped walking, so the twins and I did too. We stood there in silence for a second and I figured now it was my turn to start explaining.

"I-well, Fred and George said you could help me," I began, tucking some hair behind my ear and peering up at Bill as my cheeks turned pink. Why had I suddenly lost all ability to speak coherently? I hadn't done anything wrong. If I didn't want Bill to think I was some crazy person collecting cursed objects and getting his brothers involved, I had to speak.

"Some random lady snuck this into Sophie's bag last weekend," Fred jumped in, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the necklace. He held it out to Bill. "Sophie was shopping and this lady was talking to her about this necklace. Eventually, the lady mysteriously disappeared, and later, Sophie found the necklace in her bag. She tried to return it to the shop, but the owner said it wasn't their merchandise."

Bill looked at Fred. "If you think it's cursed, you know better to be touching it with your bare skin. Have you forgotten what happened to Katie?" He glanced at Katie, while George winced.

"I'd touched it already," I said hastily, trying to save the twins a scolding, "and nothing happened. Besides, George did tell me that it was a bad idea to have touched it. Don't get upset with them."

"If you touched it and nothing happened right away, it doesn't mean anything," Bill said. He nodded towards the necklace. "Put it on the ground. I'll check it out."

Fred knelt down and put the necklace on the grass before standing up and stepping back to stand beside me again. Bill squatted down and pulled out his wand. He stared at the necklace for a bit, tilting his head back and forth and narrowing his eyes. Fleur lit the end of her wand and squatted beside him to shed some light on the necklace in the waning daylight.

"What did this lady look like?" Bill asked me. "The one you met in the shop?"

"Dark brown hair," I said. "It was pulled back in a bun. She was an inch or two taller than me, maybe. She had light blue eyes-pretty similar in color to mine, I suppose. She was wearing a burgandy colored cloak-kind of plain looking. Nothing special. She didn't look threatening or suspicious-but I know that doesn't mean anything. I just found it odd how fast she disappeared and that she slipped the necklace into my bag. Especially since it doesn't belong to that shop."

Bill nodded and began waving his wand over the necklace. After a moment, he picked it up and looked back at me. "There's no such curse on here that would activate once in contact with human skin. Touching it or wearing it won't do anything. But if you don't mind, I'd like to hold onto it in order to test it a bit more."

I nodded. "Sure. Thank you."

"Is there anyone you know of that would slip you a cursed necklace?" Bill asked. "Anyone that wants to hurt you?"

I bit my lip as my stomach lurched unpleasantly. There was at least one person. But I was afraid to tell Bill that. If the whole family knew someone was after me, they could tell me to keep my distance. I'm sure they didn't want to be put in any more danger, especially after all that happened. And they'd be right. Honestly, staying here so long and getting attached to people had made me stupid. My initial plan kept crumbling before my eyes and it only made me frustrated with myself.

I opened my mouth to tell Bill the truth, but Fred cut me off. "No. There's no one."

"I asked Sophie," Bill said, raising an eyebrow at Fred before turning back to me.

"Well, there's no one," Fred said firmly. "Right, Sophie?"

I looked at him to see him staring at me wide eyed. He gave his head a small shake and I found myself turning back to Bill and saying, "No, no one."

* * *

Once back in my bedroom at Tom and Martha's that night, I found myself pacing around my room. It was late. Nearly midnight. Tom and Martha were asleep and I had a duffle bag open on my bed with a few items of clothing thrown in.

I couldn't stay here. I just couldn't. This was it. I had to scrounge up every last bit of willpower I had and _make_ myself leave.

So far, I'd back a few of the most basic items from my closet. As much as I loved the things I'd bought with Rachel last weekend, I'd hardly need them if I was on the run. I'd need practical items.

But then I'd noticed the picture frame that Martha had given me, still picture-less. And I'd noticed my pygmy puff from Fred-who I'd eventually named Buttercup a day after she'd been given to me-sleeping soundly on my nightstand, and I found myself delaying leaving again.

Ever since I was five years old, ever since my mother had left me, I'd been denied of everything I wanted. Basic things as well as other, less important things. I'd wanted ice skates for Christmas when I was six and still terribly missing my mother. But that first foster home had so many kids, they couldn't afford them. Instead, I'd been given a postcard of an ice rink, and a secondhand ice skater doll from the thrift store in town. It was a nice attempt, I suppose, and I knew it wasn't that family's fault that they couldn't afford anything, but it wasn't the same. And eventually, they couldn't even afford me after a while.

Needless to say, I taped that postcard above my bed and let it remind me of the good old days when I'd go skating with my mother. I held on to the good memories for as long as I could. I pushed away the thought that she hadn't come back for me and instead, chose to dwell on what we'd done before that. I told myself she'd come back one day. But as the days went by and she never came, I began to stop holding on to those memories. Anyway, it's hard to hold on to something that's slowly fading away like sidewalk chalk in the rain.

One day, I'd woken up and the postcard meant nothing to me. It was nothing more than a picture. A piece of paper. A lousy Christmas gift. So I'd thrown it away.

And I'd stopped asking for things that I wanted. I'd stopped believing I'd get them. I wouldn't get things I'd ask for and I wouldn't get things I'd hoped for in private. No matter how much I wished for my mother to come get me, she didn't. I never got those ice skates, and I never even asked again because it all seemed so pointless.

But here...I hadn't gotten my mother back, but I'd met people that seemed to genuinely like me. I'd gotten the closest thing to a real family that I'd had in a long time. I'd told Fred that I'd just wanted to feel like someone had chosen me, and Tom and Martha had. They'd given me what I'd wanted from my own mother, and even from each new foster home I went in. Love, affection, the feeling of being wanted. And I didn't think they wanted me to leave, so how could I hurt them that way? After all they'd done. They deserved a goodbye. But if I said goodbye, I knew I'd never leave.

And now I wanted different things. I wanted to finally be able to fill that picture frame from Martha. I wanted to continue nurturing my new pygmy puff. I wanted to hang out with Rachel, Kayla and Allie. I almost even wanted to get ice cream with Noah again. I wanted to hang out at the Burrow again and really get to know the rest of Fred's family. I wanted to be normal.

But that fear I'd gotten earlier when Bill was asking me about the necklace, wouldn't go away. The hurt and destruction I'd bring to all these people if I brought danger upon them would be worse than the hurt they'd feel if I left without saying goodbye. If someone was following me and trying to curse me or hurt me, then the best thing to do would be to lead them away from here.

I hastily threw a few more clothing items into my bag. I even added the picture frame from Martha, simply because I couldn't handle parting with it, picture or no picture. I closed the bag after that and went to my desk, where I scrawled a note to Tom and Martha, explaining how sorry I was but that I was afraid that my past was catching up to me and that I couldn't put them in danger after all they'd done. I knew I didn't need to elaborate much more. They knew my history. They'd figure out what I meant. I also mentioned that they'd have to give Buttercup back to Fred. He'd promised that he'd take her back if I ever left.

Once I was done, I just...sat back down on my bed. I'd done everything I needed to do. Now I just needed to leave. I hadn't even given much thought as to where I would go. Maybe I would go to France after all. I'd always wanted to know if it was as beautiful, magical and romantic as I'd always heard it was and now I could finally find out. For a split second, I imagined myself spending the day in a park somewhere overlooking the Eiffel Tower, visiting the Louvre and the Notre Dame Cathedral, trying all kinds of delicious foods...and at night, riding to the top of the lit up Eiffel Tower for the most incredible view of the city.

But who was I kidding? I had to make the money I'd saved last, I was going to be homeless again, and once my money ran out, I'd be eating French food from the garbage. _Truly_ magical and romantic. I even had to roll my eyes to myself. Unless, of course, I got a job there. Stayed just enough to earn a little bit of money and then move on to the next place. Find the balance between surviving and not getting too attached to people, places or things.

The only problem now was that Fred had the diary and I kind of wanted it back before I left. I wanted to finish what I'd started and I'd already grown just a bit invested in Elizabeth Proctor's life. But how was I going to get it back tonight?

Just then, there was a tap on my window. I jumped and gasped as I was jolted out of my trance and then when I realized someone was at my window. I could just make out the shadow of a person on the other side of my curtains, illuminated by the moonlight.

Slowly, and with my heart pounding, I crossed my room and flattened myself against the wall beside the window, holding my wand high, just in case. And then, I slowly moved the curtain aside the tiniest bit. I saw a flash of flaming red hair and let out a sigh of relief as my heartbeat slowed. Fred.

I pulled open the curtain and pushed the window up to see him hovering outside on his broomstick. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"George caught up on the diary first," he said. "And then I couldn't sleep, so I decided to catch up myself." He held up the diary with one hand. "Can I come in?"

I nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to maneuver his way into my room. He propped the broom up against the wall and immediately started flipping through the diary.

"Fred," I began, but he went on, not even hearing me. Instead, he began pacing around my room as he continued to flip through the diary.

"I can't believe she's pregnant! Right in the middle of all this. Honestly, you leave off on the entries with the biggest cliffhangers! I don't know how you can live with yourself. But, you know what I think? I think-" His rant ground to a halt as he looked up and saw the bag sitting on my bed. He turned to me and I saw him notice that I was dressed in regular day clothes in the middle of the night. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," I said innocently.

" _Bullshit_ ," Fred said, tossing the diary onto my bed and giving me a steely look. "You're leaving."

"I-I thought I could...see France," I said, trying to sound nonchalant and carefree, but it was a pretty terrible attempt.

"See it from where? Under a bridge? After you've had a nice meal of baguettes fresh from an alleyway trash can?"

His voice was getting louder. He was angry. Why was he so angry?

"Shh," I hissed. "Tom and Martha are asleep."

"Ask me if I care, because I don't," Fred snapped, stepping closer. "You can't leave!"

"Why not?" I asked. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because I do!" he said. "You're my friend!"

"You mean I'm your distraction," I clarified.

"What?" Fred asked, dumbfounded.

I sat down in my desk chair and stared at my knees. "All I am to you is a distraction from your own hurt and heartbreak. I'm someone to worry about, a mystery to solve..." I nodded towards the diary, "an interesting story to discuss. Or...even someone to save since you couldn't save Percy?"

I glanced up to see Fred's expression harden as he stiffened. "That's not fair, Sophie," he said.

I shrugged. "Whatever the case...I like knowing that you're distracted and knowing that you're not dwelling on your life as much, but, well, I've told you things I've never told anyone. It made me feel like it gave us this weird sort of closeness. Or it gave us a connection that I didn't have with anyone else. I started to care about you. And it started to hurt knowing I was just a distraction. Another reason why me leaving is for the best. I don't want to get hurt even more. I've already been hurt enough by people not caring about me."

Fred's mouth dropped open as his expression softened. He knelt down in front of me and gently put his hands over mine. "Sophie, what makes you think that's all you are? It's not true."

"You said it yourself!" I exclaimed. "The night of my birthday dinner. You said it was nice having something else to focus on besides Percy and Angelina. You said it felt good to be doing something.

Fred's face fell even more. "Yeah, okay, but it's not because I was thinking of you as a charity case or a mystery to be solved. You're not an _object_. You're a human being."

I shrugged, but didn't say anything.

"You're not just a distraction to me, Sophie," he said. "You're my friend, and I care about you too."

"I don't know if I believe you," I whispered, staring back down at my hands.

"I've opened myself up to you the same way you've opened up to me," he said. "Why would I do that if I didn't feel like I could?"

I shrugged. "Because you didn't know me until I moved here. You could open up to me without me judging you or reacting the same way your family would."

"Okay, that's a little true too," Fred said. "But if it were _completely_ true, I could just walk up to any old stranger and just start babbling about how my brother's death has completely messed me up. And something tells me that would not go over well. I'd be in St. Mungo's within the hour."

I let out a breath of laughter. "Okay, so what makes me any different? _Why me_?"

Fred shrugged and stood up before moving to plop down on the bed. "I could ask you the same question. Why me? Why did you come to me about the diary? Why do you tell me all the stuff about your life that you haven't told anyone?"

"I don't know," I whispered.

"You know," Fred went on after a moment, "I've been asking myself that bloody question almost every day for the past _year_. Why did it have to be me? Why was it my brother that had to die? Why did I have to be the one with him? Why couldn't it have been me instead? Just...why?" He shook his head. "It's not fair. He'd just come and apologized. We had so much catching up to do with him."

"It doesn't mean you should've died in his place," I said. "And if it had been, someone else would be in your place asking themselves _why._ Your family loves you."

"I know that," Fred said firmly. "But I still...when I get angry and frustrated I just wonder why...Why, why, why."

I leaned forward in my chair and stared at him. "Can you tell me how it happened?"

Fred exhaled through his nose and leaned forward himself, resting his head in his hands and speaking to the floor. "We were fighting a couple of Death Eaters together, including the new Minister, who'd been under You-Know-Who's control so they could take over the Ministry. Anyway, we managed to take down the two Death Eaters, and then Percy told the Minister he was resigning, right in the middle of all of it. _Resigning._ From the job he would not shut up about since he was a kid. He'd always dreamed of working for the Ministry, the stuffy old lunatic." He let out a dry, bitter laugh. "I got distracted. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I said something to him along the lines of how he was joking and I hadn't heard him joke in so long. I even lowered my wand." He swallowed thickly and raised his head, staring at the ceiling now. "And then I remember him glancing over at me, this tiny little smirk on his face...And then the next thing I knew, he was looking over my shoulder and his eyes went wide. At the same time, there was this loud explosion-another Death Eater had purposely blasted the wall apart, knowing I was standing in front of it. With these crazy reflexes, I didn't know he had, Percy swung his wand at the debris and used a freezing charm on them. You know, Immobulus. One of the bits of stone was less than a yard away from colliding with my head. He had even moved in front of me in the process, shoving me backwards, just in case he didn't react in time..."

"But he did," I said slowly.

"He did," Fred sighed, "but in that one minute of distraction, he was hit with Impedimenta from another Death Eater and it blasted him backwards. The charm he'd had on the stone broke and they went flying, but now I was at least out of the direct line of impact, thanks to Percy." He dragged his hands over his face and let out a heavy sigh. "I didn't get away unscathed, though. A large bit of rubble hit my leg, dislocating my hip and fracturing not only my pelvis in the process, but my leg." He lowered a hand and traced a spot just between his kneecap and hip. "Right here."

"Ouch," I breathed out lamely. That was an understatement.

"I was lucky. If it wasn't for Percy, it would've been my head and chest. I would've died." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, he got up and came back over to me. I was curled up on the ground and trying not to scream in pain. He moved me out of the way so he could assess the damage. I told him there was a secret passageway behind a nearby tapestry. He dragged me over and shoved me behind it, but before he could get behind it as well..."

"Someone got him?" I asked.

Fred nodded slowly. "Killing Curse." He paused. "I was in no state to continue fighting...I was actually feeling lightheaded from the pain. All I could manage was to seal myself behind the tapestry to avoid being found. And then I passed out like a weak _coward_."

My eyes were drawn to his hand, which had clenched into a fist on his leg, gripping the material of his jeans so tight, his knuckles were white. His face, meanwhile, was bright red, and his eyes were staring unblinkingly at the wall. And it actually looked as if he were holding his breath.

"Hey," I said quietly, slowly getting up and moving to sit beside him. Close, but not too close. "Breathe in through your nose. Slowly," I told him. A few seconds passed before he did as I'd said. I counted to five out loud, but quietly. "Now hold it," I instructed, before counting to five again. "And let it out," I finished, counting to five one last time. "Again?"

Fred nodded and we repeated the process twice more before Fred groaned and closed his eyes.

"You used my own technique against me," he finally whispered.

"You told me you knew about it because it was what worked for you," I said. "And it worked for me that day too."

"It should've been me, Soph," Fred whispered, his voice cracking. "It should've been me. It was _supposed_ to be me."

"No, it wasn't," I said. "It wasn't. It shouldn't have been _either_ of you. Should Percy be here right now? Sure. But you should not have died in his place." I hesitated. "If you had, the world would have become a whole lot dimmer."

Fred shook his head. "You asked me before if there was ever a lot of pressure on me to be funny when I don't feel like it. And I said no because I loved doing it and making people laugh through the hard times was so rewarding. I meant that, but ever since the war and ever since Percy's death...well, I've still loved making people happy and I still love my job and I still love laughter and pranks. But...in those hard moments where it all became too much...it felt like nobody knew what to do. It was like I was malfunctioning and they weren't prepared to handle what was happening. It's like, they'd always expected me to be funny and knew how to deal me pranking people and making jokes and causing mayhem, but the second I went off track, everyone froze. Mum was always checking on me, always breathing down my neck. And so was George for that matter. And everyone else just seemed to keep their distance as if they were unsure what to say or do to make me feel better so they just didn't try at all. _Everyone_ was afraid to mention Percy for a while, especially in front of me."

"Except Ginny, apparently," I said.

"Yeah, except Ginny. But she was _always_ bringing him up. It was always too much or too little. They reacted like they were watching a cat barking like a dog. Everything about that is wrong. It's not supposed to happen. And they didn't know the best way to handle it. They tried, but nothing felt right."

I stayed silent as he took a deep breath and looked up at me.

"You asked me why it had to be you," he said, "and I think it's because you're the first person who's done neither of those two extremes. You don't hover, but you know what helps me. For instance, you remembered what I'd said about the breathing technique working for me. You act like the crazy redhead falling apart before your eyes is the most normal thing you've ever seen."

I met his eyes, unsure of what to say or do. He was almost right. Watching someone fall apart was almost normal for me, because usually I was the one falling apart. For different reasons, sure, but I was no stranger to pain and I was no stranger to attempting and failing to move on.

"It's confusing," he went on. "I don't understand how you can be exactly what I need when a few months ago you were a stranger. If you leave..." He swallowed thickly. "If you leave, I-" He closed his eyes, inhaled, and let it out slowly before turning to me. "Just...stay," he said, his voice level. "Stay for me, but stay for yourself, too. You're happy here, Soph. You deserve to be this happy. I think you need to be here just as much as I need you to be here."

"But Bill asked if-"

"I know what Bill asked and I know I lied," Fred interrupted. "But we can't have my family going insane at something that may or may not be a threat."

"But why take that chance? I don't want to put any of these people at risk."

"Taking chances is one of the things I do best," Fred said. "And I am prepared to fight anyone who threatens my family or friends. I've told you that."

"You can't speak for everyone else."

Fred leaned back on his hands and smiled at me. "Stay," he said again. When I didn't answer, he tilted his head. "What if I offered to help you, even more than I am already?"

I snorted and looked up at him. "You mean do even more than join my Salem Witch trials book club?" I picked up the diary and lightly swatted him with it. "How generous."

He laughed and gently took the diary from me before lightly swatting me back. "Hey, I got Bill to check out that necklace, too. Don't forget. But yes, I have another idea."

"And what would that be?" I asked.

"You said you knew virtually nothing about your parents. You said you never knew what happened to your mother or where she went or why she didn't come back for you. You said you felt like you didn't even know who you were because you barely knew your parents. What if I helped you find out? What if I helped you find one-or both of your parents? And if we can't find them, we can find out what happened to them. Give you some closure. And in the process, we can close the case on this mystery woman and where this diary came from and put to rest any idea that someone's following you. And then you can stay here without any issues, okay?" He smiled. "Trust me, France isn't all that great."

"You ever been?" I asked.

"No," he said, "but I know for a fact that there's something pretty amazing here in London that France doesn't have."

"What's that?"

"Me," Fred answered.

I actually found myself laughing. "That is true."

"So, what do you say?" Fred asked. "Stay a little longer? Let me help you?"

"I don't know if I want to open that can of worms, Fred," I said. "It could get messy and complicated and I may not like what I find. It's just something I'd thought of, but..."

"But what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You want some answers, don't you? And won't some closure help you? Some peace of mind? You'll know for sure what your mother's deal was and then you can come to terms with it. Yeah, it might be tough if it's not the answer you want, but then you can move forward with those feelings instead of leaving them all hanging."

I swallowed. He did have a point. Finally, I stood up and grabbed the handle of my duffle bag. Fred froze and his mouth fell open. But then, I walked to my closet and tossed the duffle bag in before closing the door and turning back to Fred.

"France can wait."


	13. Chapter 13

"So, Saturday night," Rachel said as we closed up the pub together on Wednesday evening.

"What about Saturday night?" I asked.

"Are you free?"

"Aren't I always?" I asked with a raised eyebrow as I pulled off my apron and tossed it in the dirty apron basket. Kyle had closed up the kitchen and it was just me, Rachel, and Noah left cleaning up the dining room area and locking up for the night.

"No," she said, "I never seem to know when you're going to be off with Fred and George." She sighed and gazed at me sadly.

I snorted and raised an eyebrow at her. "Come on, Rach."

"Okay, okay," she said. "I was going to ask if you'd want to join the ever so fabulous Leaky Cauldron crew at a pub that is ironically _not_ the Leaky Cauldron."

"Hogsmeade outing again?" I asked.

She nodded. "Pretty much the same people as last time. Me, Kayla, Allie, Noah...his friend, Alex. And Chris."

"Your cousin who is also Kayla's boyfriend?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, you know, all the usual people. In fact, you can invite the twins if you'd like."

"Maybe," I said with a shrug as I leaned against the counter and bit my lip. I hadn't mentioned to anyone about my plan to leave on Sunday night. No one knew that I'd gone as far as packing a bag and leaving a note. No one except Fred. It felt strange for some reason. I almost felt guilty. I had nearly walked out on these people and they had no idea. But there was no point in telling them now. I hadn't left after all.

I also hadn't heard from Fred again since Sunday. He'd stayed a while longer before sneaking out of my window again. We'd talked about the diary and what we thought would happen with Elizabeth. But we left anything personal out of it for the rest of the time we were together. No more mentions of Percy or my past. Once we moved on from the diary, we'd actually sat there and talked about...ourselves. We got to know each other on a more basic level.

We now knew each other's favorite colors, favorite subjects, favorite foods, and what we liked to do for fun. I'd told him I used to like to ice skate and how I'd go with my mother. I told him the story of how she had taught me to skate. I told him that she and I had planned to travel together all over the place. New York, Paris, London. I mentioned I liked to read. But I didn't go any deeper into my past. I think we both felt like we needed to keep things basic for the time being. Take a break from the heavier parts of our lives.

Fred also told me about some of his and George's pranks. He told me about the time when Bill taught him and George to swim in the pond. He told me about playing Quidditch-both in his own backyard and at school. He told me about Ottery St. Catchpole, where the Burrow was, and he told me about London.

And in return, I told him about growing up in Salem. How much I'd explored it and enjoyed it, especially as a young girl, but did it less and less as I got older. It was a charming place, but I'd lost some of the ability to see it as I got older. Unfortunately.

"So will _you_ at least come?" Rachel asked me now, taking off her own apron now and putting it in the laundry.

I shrugged and exhaled slowly through my nose. "Sure, I guess so."

"Will you stay the whole time?" Rachel asked hopefully, turning to me. "Please?"

I smiled. "I can't say no when you ask me so nicely."

"Oh great!" Rachel said excitedly. "What are you going to _wear_? If you ask me, I think you should wear that dark colored pair of jeans. And maybe that flowy purple shirt with the cutouts on the shoulders."

"You're the expert," I said with a shrug.

"Rachel's an expert on something?" Noah asked in mock surprise as he entered the room with the last of the dirty dishes.

"Shut up, Noah, I happen to be an expert on a lot of things," she argued. "For example, the proper attire when working at a pub." She eyed Noah's apron, which he was dragging on the ground by the string.

"We're closed, Rach," he said, rolling his eyes at me as he patted Rachel's shoulder. "No one's out there to care and I couldn't wait to take this ruddy thing off." He swung the apron in a circle by its string and tossed it into the laundry basket before dumping his bin of dirty dishes into the sink and waving his wand to get the washing started.

"Sophie's coming out with us on Saturday," Rachel announced proudly. "And she's not going to leave early. _And_ she's going to wear some of the new clothes we got when we went shopping." She looked at Noah with a wide smile. "She's going to look _very_ good. I'd even go as far as to say... _hot_ even."

I nearly dove headfirst into the sink out of embarrassment. Instead, I rapidly shook my head. "Rachel, no."

"Really," Noah commented in response to Rachel as he turned to me with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm going to look very...normal," I said matter of factly.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Noah teased. "How about this-if I end up siding with Rachel, you have to go out with me again-okay fine, _hang out_ ," he amended when he saw my face. "But if I agree with you and think you just look _normal,_ then I won't bother you anymore."

"That's not fair in the least," I argued.

"Why, because you know Rachel's right?" Noah asked.

"No, because you can easily just say you agree with Rachel so I'll hang out with you. This is only a matter of opinion. You can't make deals based on opinions."

"Who says?" Rachel asked coyly, grabbing her bag from the hook in the corner. She turned and wiggled her fingers in a wave. "I'll let you two figure this out together. I'm off for the night, bye," she said quickly. And then she hurried through the back door.

"Sometimes I could just..." I trailed off and sighed as I smiled. As much as I should be irritated with Rachel and as much as a part of me was irritated with her for leaving me alone with someone who kept trying to ask me out, I couldn't be mad at her. She was just too likeable.

"Sometimes you could just give her a good shake, but you like her too much?" Noah suggested.

I nodded. "Exactly."

"I know," Noah said, hoisting himself up to sit on the counter. I watched him in amusement. Kyle and Martha would each have a fit if they knew he was sitting on there, but Noah didn't seem to care. He kicked his heels against the side of the counter as he continued. "Rachel and I have been friends since Hogwarts."

"How'd you meet? Weren't you two in different houses?" I asked, remembering Noah telling me that he'd been in Ravenclaw and Rachel in Hufflepuff.

He nodded. "We had Potions together first year," he said. "I took the blame when Rachel accidentally blew up her cauldron."

"She blew up her cauldron?" I asked, a laugh escaping my throat.

Noah laughed with me and nodded again. "That girl could burn _water_ She can't even make a decent cup of tea, never mind a potion. She practically scraped by in class by the skin of her neck. And that was even with me tutoring her."

I smiled. "Funny that she works in a pub, then," I said.

"She just delivers the food, doesn't make it," Noah said. "That's her defense every time I tease her about working here."

"So how did you all end up working here together? You, Rachel, Kayla, Allie..." I asked, hoisting myself up on the counter I was leaning against, opposite of Noah. To hell with Martha and Kyle throwing a fit. My feet were killing me at the moment. I'd clean the counter once we were done.

Noah shrugged. "Honestly, none of us really knew what we wanted to do once we left school," he said. "Nothing spoke to us, but we didn't want to be jobless. Kayla started the joke, actually. She'd always just say _guess we're going to work at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of our lives_ whenever we hit dead ends trying to figure out what we wanted. And then once Rachel graduated a year ahead of us, she went and got a job here...mostly I think to be funny and actually carry out our inside joke. But then she actually liked it and got the rest of us jobs too. And we still haven't left." He chuckled. "It's not a bad place to work, though. Kayla joked about it because you know, working in a pub seems so stereotypically low on the job scale. But it's not bad. None of us are rich, but Tom and Martha are wonderful..."

"You don't need to defend yourself," I said. "I work here too, you know. And you're right, Tom and Martha are great."

"What would you do if you could do anything?" Noah asked, tilting his head at me.

I let out a puff of air through my mouth as I looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know. Not much ever spoke to me either. I can't see myself in any position relating to magical government, I have no interest or talent for being a Healer, or even an Auror...I suppose I wouldn't mind teaching." I shrugged and looked back over at him. "But I don't know if I'm passionate enough about it."

"You don't want to take over the pub when Tom and Martha decide they're done?" Noah asked.

"I could," I said hesitantly, "but..."

"You've never planned on staying that long?" Noah asked.

I looked at him sadly. "I could stay here, to be honest," I said. "I could stay here the rest of my life. Grow old here..."

"Then why don't you?"

"It's...complicated." There was a pause before I smiled slightly. "You know, when I was little, I used to want to be a professional ice skater or a photographer. I used to want to specifically take photos that would hopefully be made into postcards if they were pretty enough."

"Why postcards?"

I sighed. "I used to have a postcard of an ice rink. It reminded me of my mother because she was the one who taught me to ice skate. She took me all the time before she...before she left me." I shook my head and looked up at the ceiling again. "Whenever I looked at that postcard, I used to be reminded of all the good times we had. And I guess I wanted to make someone else that nostalgic and happy whenever they looked at a photo I took. I wanted to be able to freeze something beautiful and have it spread all over the world, sent to one place or another. And even if it was something simple, like an ice rink, or a boat on the water, or a tree with brilliant red and orange leaves in the fall...I liked knowing it could make someone happy. Maybe someone like me who was lonely and sad and missing the way things used to be. Because in photographs, time stands still. Things don't change."

It was silent and still in the kitchen for a moment before Noah let out a quiet breath of air. "Wow."

I looked over at him, jolted out of my thoughts. I flushed red. "Sorry."

"No, I just think...that was a really nice way to put it. I'd never thought of pictures like that."

"I don't know," I sighed. "I eventually threw the postcard away once I realized my mother wasn't coming back and once I started getting angry about it. So maybe I don't want to do something that can bring joy, but then turn around a second later and just cause too much pain."

"I think that only happens if you let it," Noah said slowly. "Your initial reaction to that photo was one of joy and nostalgia. It reminded you of something good and like you said, froze it in time. Your memories don't go away, you know."

"Good or bad, though, unfortunately," I sighed.

"So let the bad ones go," Noah said. "Hold onto the good ones."

"It's not that simple, Noah," I whispered. "Trust me, I tried. I tried holding on to all those good memories and eventually it just devastated me. Sure, the memories were still there, frozen in time, but they'd never change. They'd always be the same. But they were a thing of the past. And eventually they started to fade and all I could think about was the present. That my mother had left me and she wasn't coming back."

I hadn't realized tears had formed in my eyes and started rolling down my cheeks until Noah hopped off the counter and crossed the room to me. He stood in front of me and reached out with his thumb to wipe the tears away. I recoiled a bit at first, but then stilled and closed my eyes as I felt his thumb brush one cheek and then the other.

"Just so you know," he whispered, "someone would have to be a _fool_ to purposely leave you and choose to never come back."

I opened my eyes and tilted my head up slightly to look at him. What on earth was happening to me? The wall I'd put up around myself was falling down brick by brick, stone by stone. I was confused and frightened and I had no idea why I was starting to tell people about what had happened to me. It had started with Fred and since then I'd been willingly opening up about things I didn't think I'd ever be able to talk about. It was horrifying being so vulnerable around people, especially after I knew how difficult it could be to trust the people you thought you could trust the most.

Just then, I heard the door at the top of the back stairs open.

"Are you two still locking up?" I heard Tom's voice ask in disbelief. Noah and I couldn't see him from where we were and I knew he couldn't see us, which was a good thing because otherwise he'd have seen Noah standing as close to me as he was while I was perched atop the counter. A space I definitely wasn't supposed to be sitting on.

"Thomas O'Reilly, you leave them be," I heard Martha say sternly. "Shut the lights before you come up for the night, Sophie dear," she called.

"Yes, of course," I answered, trying to keep my voice level. "Be up in a moment."

And then the door shut again with a click.

"Oh my goodness," I sighed, burying my head in my hands as Noah laughed and stepped away from me.

"Go on up before you worry them," he said, retrieving the empty bin for carrying dishes and sticking it in its spot under the sink. He waved his wand and sent all the now clean dishes into their appropriate spots in the kitchen. "I'll head on out, shut off the lights and lock the door."

I nodded. "Okay."

"Thanks for the talk," Noah said seriously. "I'm glad you finally decided to trust me enough to tell me something about your old life." He smiled. "See you Saturday?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, nodding and giving him a small smile in return. "Saturday."

* * *

On Saturday night, I found myself dressed in the exact outfit that Rachel had suggested. I had to admit, I did feel pretty in it. I examined myself in the mirror, pulling my hair to the side and draping it over my shoulder. Martha had just trimmed it for me the other day, but it still fell so that it was level with the top of my armpit. And tonight, Rachel had loosely curled it for me. Of course, the only reason I'd agreed to let her near it was because my shirt covered my entire back. It wasn't like the sundress where part of it was exposed. I didn't have to worry about the scars showing and I still looked and felt _good_. I didn't look like the small, skinny, pale girl with dark circles under her eyes that had, for a period of time, been sleeping on the streets and nicking food from the garbage. I wouldn't go as far as saying I looked _hot,_ as Rachel had claimed I would, but I did have to admit that I looked nice.

"Noah is totally going to side with me when he sees you," Rachel said, her hands on her hips as she examined me. She came to stand behind me and fixed a section of my hair. "Did anyone ever tell you how fabulous your hair is?" she asked.

"It's just light brown," I said. "Mousy brown, actually. Very fitting to Kyle's nickname for me."

Rachel shook her head. "Sure, it's brown, but you have subtle natural blonde highlights that some people pay money to have done. _And_ it curls very well."

"What about _your_ hair?" I asked, gesturing to her head of thick, long brown hair. It hung almost to her waist, but there was no sign of dead ends or dryness anywhere.

"Oh, nonsense," she said, brushing me off. "We were talking about _you_ and how you're going to have to hang out with Noah again."

I swallowed as she stepped away from me and began straightening up her things that she'd brought over, tossing her makeup and hairbrush back into her bag.

"After you left on Wednesday night," I began, "he and I stayed and talked for a bit and I thought for a second-at one point, I thought-I-"

Rachel turned to me and froze as her eyebrows shot up. "You thought what?" she asked.

"I thought he was going to kiss me," I whispered, meeting her eyes as my heart hammered in my chest. It was the truth. When he'd been standing in front of me, wiping away my tears, I'd thought he was going to try and kiss me. And I hadn't been sure if I'd wanted him to or not. For many reasons. One being that I still hadn't kissed a boy before. People were making me feel ashamed about it back at school, right up to my last year. And now I was twenty-one. I'd let myself feel ashamed at first back then. I thought I was missing out on something normal. But even then, and especially ever since, I didn't really have time for boys and kissing.

So most of my feelings were stemming from the fact that I simply _didn't know how_. I didn't know how to kiss someone. I didn't know how to do the whole relationship thing at all. I barely liked being touched, so how could I even manage a relationship? Besides, I didn't have the _time_. I had way bigger things to worry about. _Too much_ to worry about. More important things than something as frivolous as having a boyfriend. It seemed so silly, getting worried over boys, when there was so much going on. I really just didn't see any point.

But on the other hand, a part of me was wondering what it would feel like. All of it. To continue to find love in all the ways I'd missed out on over the years. And also to just...have a boyfriend.

Rachel stared at me in silence for a moment before she let out a squeal of delight. I startled slightly at her reaction, although I should've expected it. It wasn't exactly out of character for her.

"Shh," I hissed. "Let's not make a huge deal about this. I was most likely imagining it."

"No, you most likely were _not_ ," Rachel insisted. "He likes you. Didn't I tell you he liked you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Did you _want_ to kiss him?"

"I don't know!" I exclaimed, plopping down onto my bed in exasperation. "He is cute, I guess..."

"You guess?"

"Okay, fine, he is cute and maybe for a second, I wondered what it would be like if he did kiss me. And okay, maybe I opened up to him about something from my home life, but-"

"You did?" Rachel gasped, jumping onto the bed beside me. "Soph, that's huge! The only people you've been completely honest with about that kind of thing is Tom and Martha because they _made you,_ and then of course, Fred and George. Mostly Fred. The only stuff you've ever really told me was that your parents left you and that you were in foster care and that you didn't really have friends at school..." She trailed off and gave me an apologetic look when she saw my face. "Sorry." She cleared her throat. "Noah's sweet. I'm sure you've figured that out for yourself by now. He would never do anything to hurt you and he would never pressure you to talk about things you didn't want to talk about. Even if you were officially dating. He wouldn't pressure you. He wouldn't want you to feel obligated."

"But shouldn't I be obligated? To be honest with someone if I were to...you know, date them?"

"Yeah, I guess, but you'll get there. Wednesday night was the first step. It'll get easier."

"I've already told Fred a lot about myself," I whispered, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. "More than I've told Noah."

"Do you have feelings for Fred?" Rachel asked, raising her eyebrows.

I looked up at the ceiling. "I haven't wanted to kiss him," I said.

Rachel actually burst out laughing. "Well, that clarifies so much."

"I think it's just because he was the first person I was so vulnerable with. I never had anyone to talk to like that back home, which I'm sure couldn't have been healthy. But he was the first."

"Well, you've both got a lot of baggage, and you're both too stubborn to _ask_ for help. So it seems appropriate that you kind of stumbled into some kind of friendship. Birds of a feather flock together, isn't that what they say?" Rachel asked out as she stood up. She studied her reflection in the mirror and fixed her hair as she continued. "Fred's a nice guy, but...he's healing and so are you. Are you sure that's what you need right now? Isn't it like recovering alcoholics hanging out with someone who drinks regularly?"

"I don't think so," I said, frowning. "I think it's helped. He's said it's helped him."

"Look," she said, sitting back down next to me, "Fred's going through a lot right now. He feels guilty that he survived last year and Percy didn't. It's natural and there's nothing wrong with that. But I worry that since he's devastated about not being able to save Percy-or being alive while Percy isn't-he might..."

"He might just be trying to help me because of that? Metaphorically save me so he can balance it out?" I asked "Are you saying he could be using me?"

Rachel shrugged. "Not intentionally, but..."

I sighed and looked away. "The thought did cross my mind, actually. That he wanted to save someone just to erase his conscience. I asked him about it and he denied it."

"Of course he'd deny it," Rachel said with a laugh. She paused. "Even if he wasn't so damaged...he doesn't seem like your type. He's bold, brash, outgoing...he's a prankster."

"But he's not _mean_ ," I said.

"No, but I think you need someone gentler and less..." She trailed off and held her hands out in front of her, quickly opening her fists and spreading her fingers out. "Less...bam. You know? Besides, he has times where he gets really drunk. And you don't like alcohol. You hardly ever touch any, which I'm guessing relates back to something that's happened to you before you came here." She shrugged. "If you ask me, Noah's a lot better for you. And I firmly believe he _was_ about to kiss you the other night!"

She jumped up again and clapped her hands, back to her bubbly self in two seconds. And then Kayla and Allie were showing up and she was excitedly telling them the news, while they acted just as thrilled. Meanwhile, I sat on my bed, trying to participate, but still lagging behind in the conversation. My brain was still on what Rachel had said about Fred. If it wasn't just me that had wondered if I was a distraction or if I was just being used, then what did that mean? Did it give the thought more meaning or more truth? If Fred himself had denied it, then what did _that_ mean? I felt like it should hold more weight, but what if he'd been lying? Lying to get me to stay for his own benefit?

Maybe Rachel was right. Trying to make sense of it all was too complicated. The simple answer was that I had opened up to Fred completely on my own and had felt attached to him because of it. Part of me had felt drawn to him because he was sorting through his own issues, just like I had issues to sort through. We were both looking for someone to treat us exactly like what we were. Humans. Not a malfunction, or a cat barking like a dog, or whatever analogy he had used the other night. But on his part, I wasn't sure what was happening or what would happen. If I helped him, would he get rid of me once I wasn't needed anymore? Or what if he got so comfortable with me that he started letting me see all the really horrific parts of what he was going through? For instance, the drinking. Like Rachel had said, did I want to subject myself to that? Would that help me?

"Ready to go?" Rachel's voice snapped me out of my trance and I looked up to see her, Kayla and Allie standing by the door, bags slung over their shoulders.

I nodded and stood up, grabbing my own bag from my desk. "Yeah, let's go."

* * *

"For the record, I've officially taken Rachel's side," Noah whispered into my ear thirty minutes after we'd arrived at the Three Broomsticks. Drinks were already ordered and conversation was already underway. I had actually surprised myself by finishing one entire butter beer and moving on to number two. And now, when I knew what Noah was getting at, I almost had to fight to _not_ down the rest of my drink.

"What do you mean?" I asked, deciding to play dumb.

Noah pulled back and smiled at me. "You know what I mean. You told me you were going to look _normal_ tonight." He shrugged. "You don't."

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair as my face heated up.

"I thought we agreed that whole plan was not happening," I said quietly, spinning my drink slowly in my hands. "We can't make a deal based on a matter of opinion."

"Fine, but will you still go out with me again anyway?" Noah asked. When I raised an eyebrow at him, he blushed. "Sorry. _Hang out_."

I sighed and turned in my chair to look at him. "You're a really nice guy, Noah," I began.

He interrupted me with a quiet groan as he tilted his nearly empty fire whiskey bottle towards him to inspect how much was left. "I feel a _but_ coming," he said.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Noah went on before I could.

"It's Fred, isn't it?" he asked.

I promptly closed my mouth and blinked. "What's Fred?"

"You like him instead?" Noah asked, glancing at me. "You spend a lot of time with him and Rachel's said you've already hung out with his family twice."

I let out a quiet laugh and shook my head. "Is that supposed to mean something?" I asked. "I'm not exactly sure spending a lot of time with someone and meeting their family amounts to wedding bells."

"Does it mean something?" Noah asked, looking at me. "The only one who can tell me that is you."

I didn't answer for a moment as I stared down at my drink. "I don't know what it means," I finally answered. "I don't even know-I don't know what Fred and I are. It's all very confusing a lot of the time."

"Well, let me ask you a simple question, then," Noah said, turning sideways in his seat to face me and so that our knees were now touching. "Do you get the whole butterflies in your stomach, heart pounding, exhilarated kind of feeling when you're around Fred? You know, all the typical feelings of...having feelings?"

I let out a snort of laughter. "No, but I'm pretty sure that's because there's something wrong with me. I think I'm programmed to just...not feel those things. Don't have time. Bigger issues to worry about."

"First of all, there's nothing wrong with you. Secondly, as far as being programmed to not feel those things...will you allow me to change that?" Noah asked, slowly reaching out and lightly tracing a finger along the side of my knee. My breath caught in my throat and as a reflex, my let stiffened. Noah seemed to notice and he moved his hand away.

"I shouldn't," I whispered, my mind going back to the diary and the necklace and the mystery woman and the fact that I'd run away from someone who had made clear by the marks on my back that he didn't want me running away.

"If you really want nothing to do with me in that way, I'll respect it," Noah said slowly. "But...I think you have to give me a proper chance first."

I closed my eyes as my mind drifted to Wednesday night and how I'd almost wanted him to kiss me to know what it was like. How a part of me wanted to know what it was like to have a boyfriend. I thought back to being at school and feeling left out that most of the other girls at school were in relationships and getting asked on dates and getting notes and flowers and candy from boys. Seeing them in the halls holding hands and giggling and fooling around. I wanted that. I was only human. But back at school, I was also teased incessantly for anything and everything. And that had almost made me instantly revolting to any boys. No one would go near me. I was the weird foster girl, the good student, the quiet one, and the one that was always teased by the most popular girls in school. Nobody wanted anything to do with me, unless it was for a joke or a bet or a prank.

But Noah was different. Everyone had been telling me he was nice and that he was sweet and wouldn't hurt a fly and I knew that was true. I had been working with him nearly every day for the past two and a half months. I saw how he treated other people besides me. I saw how he treated all different kinds of customers every single day and I saw how he treated the rest of us-his coworkers. That was one of the cool things about being so quiet and trying so hard to blend in. I usually got to sit back and just notice things.

It was easier with Noah, I told myself. Besides what Rachel and I had discussed earlier regarding Fred, I still found myself worrying about his love of pranks and jokes. I couldn't quite figure him out. I'd thought he seemed like a genuinely kindhearted person despite the joke shop and the pranks and the cocky, confident personality that still seemed to shine through a bit despite his pain. But what if he wasn't any different? What if he was just a good actor? What if he was just the same as the people back home and only being nice to me as a joke or because someone dared him or made a bet with him? George, maybe? He'd been the one so eager for us to be friends in the first place.

And then there was all that stuff Rachel had mentioned. Stuff that I'd already been wondering. He could be using me just as a distraction, a way to get his mind off of Percy and Angelina. Or maybe he wanted to even use me to get back at Angelina. Make her jealous. That was a thing that people did, wasn't it? Or perhaps that was just in books.

My mind was running away with me, just trying to think it all through and I couldn't stop myself. I didn't know what I was getting with Fred. He was complicated, and yet if he walked in the door right at that moment, I would have been happy to hang out with him.

Noah, on the other hand, was a lot more simple. He was just all around _nice_. He never made my mind take all these crazy twists and turns as I tried to figure him out. There wasn't much _to_ figure out. And yet I'd been hesitant to hang out with him only because I was afraid to get involved or attached with too many people. That plan had officially gone out the window, so was there really any harm in spending more time with Noah? A guy that didn't make me _think_ so much? At least not any more than usual. Maybe he was right. Maybe I needed to give him a proper chance.

"I'll hang out with you," I finally said.

"Really?" Noah asked, a grin spreading over his face as his eyebrows shot up.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Great!" he exclaimed. "I get off at four tomorrow. I know you have the whole day off, so I can come get you at six and we can go to dinner? You can pick the place."

"I don't really know many places," I admitted. "You're the one who's lived here your whole life."

"Have you ever been anywhere besides Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley?" Noah asked thoughtfully.

"No," I answered.

"So what do you say to actually going somewhere in Muggle London?" Noah asked. "And have you ever ridden a Ferris wheel before?"

I giggled. "Noah, I think you can safely assume my answer to most questions like that are _no_."

"Perfect," Noah answered, finishing off his drink and grinning. "Date planned. Easy."

"Date?" I asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling slightly.

Noah shrugged. "A hanging out as friends date. Although, I'm hoping you'll change your mind by the end of it."

I didn't say anything for a moment as I continued to stare down at the drink in my hands, frowning in thought. "You really want to go out with me?" I asked, looking up at Noah and tilting my head to the side. "You really think I'm worth it?"

"Of course," Noah said, looking at me in confusion. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to."

I nodded. "Okay," I said slowly.

"You're not only pretty, but you're nice. Sometimes people see someone as closed off and quiet as yourself and automatically assume that they're mean or stuck up, but you aren't. You're just...afraid. But you're determined and you work hard and you have a sense of humor and you're smart. It took a little bit of time, but I noticed things about you. You can try all you want, but you can't hide yourself from people forever. And after that conversation we had on Wednesday night, I felt as if I liked you even more. It was nice knowing you shared something so personal, even if it was something difficult to talk about for you. It was nice knowing you're starting to trust me."

I looked up at him again and bit my lip. It was interesting, I thought, that he was glad I'd shared something personal because he felt it established trust and that it made our relationship stronger. That was essentially what I'd felt as Fred and I shared all that information about our lives with each other. But Fred had said it was just a way to redirect his focus. Sure, in my room last weekend he'd said he'd grown to care about me and denied that our relationship meant anything less to him, but his first reaction had still been to tell me that talking to me was a way to think of something other than Percy and Angelina.

I smiled slightly and studied his face before my smile faded. "Noah," I said. "Look...I don't-"

"You don't want to get too attached," he said. "I know. You want to move on. You're afraid of your past." He reached out and put a hand over mine. "But since you're here, why not have a little fun, eh?"

"And what about you?" I asked.

"What about me?"

"If I were to leave..." I trailed off and shook my head as I looked away and gazed across the room. "I don't want to upset anyone."

"It's a bit too late for that," Noah said. "We'd all miss you quite a bit if you left."

"That's part of what I was afraid of. I didn't want to stay long enough to make me leaving hard for anyone."

"As I've said, it's a bit too late," Noah said with a quiet laugh.

I let out a half groan, half laugh as I buried my head in my hands. "Why does this have to be so hard?"

"It _doesn't_ have to be," Noah shrugged, turning in his chair to face the table again as he set down his drink.

"You don't understand," I began.

"I'd like to, though," Noah replied quietly, glancing at me almost shyly out of the corner of his eye. "If you'll-one day-trust me enough to help me."

I smiled, feeling a sudden, unexpected rush of endearment towards him. I studied his face for a moment before smiling wider. "So tomorrow at six, then?"

Noah brightened, a huge grin lifting his lips. "Yeah, definitely. Tomorrow at six."

* * *

Saying I was nervous was an understatement. By the following evening at five minutes to six o'clock, I had already changed my outfit three times before settling on a plain green sweater and jeans. I'd almost wished I'd had that necklace back from the twins-curse free of course-so that I could wear it, but no such luck. I hadn't even talked to them since Friday at the pub when they'd said Bill still had the necklace.

As the minutes ticked closer to six o'clock, I found myself pacing around the kitchen, my stomach in knots.

"No need to be so nervous, darling," Martha said as she bustled by me with a pile of freshly washed laundry. She brought it to the living room couch and sat down as she started to fold it.

I didn't respond, instead choosing to continue pacing.

"Why don't you come help me fold the laundry?" Martha suggested. "If you need to keep busy, you might as well put that nervous energy to good use and help me."

I nodded before sinking down on the couch and grabbing a dishtowel, folding it once, then unfolding it and doing it again. And again. And again.

"My goodness," Martha said, pausing in folding a dishtowel of her own and letting her hands collapse into her lap. "It's just _Noah_ ," she said. "You're just going out to dinner."

"Yes, but hanging out with people is how... _bonding_ happens."

"Typically, yes," Martha said, resuming her folding of the dishtowel. "I know you're afraid of that and I know you're afraid to trust people and get too attached. I know nobody's given you a good reason to trust them or to form an attachment-including your own parents. But you can't keep people at a distance forever. It's natural to want to connect with people and as hard as you may try, you can't keep yourself from it."

"Clearly," I said. "Ever since I've been here, I've-"

I was interrupted by a knock on the door. I gasped and turned to stare at it wide eyed.

Martha chuckled. "Have a good time," she said, leaning over to press a kiss to my forehead. "Enjoy yourself. Relax. Let loose. Noah will take good care of you. He's a good boy. His mother's a sweetheart, too."

I took a deep breath before standing, smoothing out my sweater and walking to the door. I opened it and saw Noah standing there with a bouquet of yellow tulips.

"I thought roses might be too romantic for our not-a-date," he announced sheepishly, and almost nervously, holding them out to me.

"But you still brought flowers," I said with a smile.

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a sweet guy like that."

I giggled and took the bouquet. "Thank you. They're beautiful."

"And so are you," he said, smiling at me charmingly.

I shook my head and blushed as I fiddled with one of the flower petals.

"Oh, Noah, those are gorgeous!" Martha exclaimed, coming to stand beside me at the door. "How thoughtful!"

"That's me," Noah said with a smile. "Thoughtful. _Incredibly_ thoughtful."

"I'll go put these in some water," Martha said, taking the flowers and heading for the kitchen. "You two have fun. Don't be out too late! You're both working tomorrow!" She laughed and sent us a playful wink before she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Ready to go?" Noah asked, tilting his head towards the stairs.

I nodded as my stomach flip flopped nervously. "Yeah, let's go." I grabbed my bag before following Noah out the door, shutting it behind me. Noah and I walked in silence down the stairs and out the front door to the streets of Muggle London.

"Come on," Noah said, taking my hand and pulling me into the shadows of the building. He kept his hand wrapped around mine as he checked to make sure we were concealed before turning on the spot and Apparating.

We reappeared on a street outside of an Italian restaurant. From the street, I could see the London Eye poking out from a spot in the distance behind the restaurant.

Noah continued to hold my hand as he led me inside and spoke to the woman at the front desk. She smiled and crossed something off on a sheet of paper in front of her before grabbing two menus and telling us to follow her.

She led us towards a small table in the back, right near a large window that had a view of the Ferris wheel. I smiled slightly. It was the perfect spot.

Noah pulled out my chair for me and I gingerly sat down before pushing my chair closer to the table and gazing outside.

"Great view, huh?" Noah asked proudly as he sat down himself.

I nodded, watching the Ferris wheel slowly move around and around. "My mother and I used to talk about coming here to ride that." I gestured out the window.

"Yeah?" Noah asked, looking out the window as well.

"We used to talk about a lot of things. Ice skating in New York, seeing the Eiffel Tower in Paris, coming here to London and seeing Big Ben and the London Eye and Buckingham Palace..." I trailed off and turned to him as I took a deep breath. "My ancestors are from here." I paused. "Well, somewhere in England. I'm not sure where. It was a long time ago. My mother said her family was in America for centuries, but ages ago, someone in her family came to America from here."

"Really," Noah said. "So you're not as much of an outsider as we thought." He smiled and flipped open his menu. "Any idea what you want?"

I shook my head as I opened my own menu. Everything sounded incredible. Eventually, Noah and I decided to share a large pepperoni pizza. Noah ordered a Muggle beer, while I stuck to water.

"So you don't mind that we ordered pizza?" Noah said. "Something we could have just stayed in and ordered."

"I will eat pizza _anywhere_ ," I said. "I'm not that kind of girl, Noah. The kind who expects or even wants fancy treatment."

"I know," he said. "And you don't mind that we're sharing it? I told you already that you can order whatever you want. If you want anything else, go for it."

I laughed and shook my head. "Noah, I'm fine."

"I think you deserve to get whatever you want," Noah said. "Not just at restaurants, but in life."

"You're sweet," I said quietly, fiddling with my napkin, which I had already gently placed in my lap.

"I mean it," he said. "You seem a little better now, but when you first showed up here, you were so..."

"Skinny, terrifying...gross?" I suggested.

Noah hesitated as the waiter returned with a basket of warm, steaming bread. I grabbed a piece simply to have something to do.

"No..." Noah went on. "You were so...sad. You kept to yourself, did your job, hardly spoke to anyone. You always seemed so lost and lonely. And you seemed so used to it and so accepting of it and so determined to just leave again. That's not fair. You must want to form some kinds of relationships with people or else you wouldn't hang out with Rachel and the girls. You wouldn't spend time with the twins and you wouldn't spend time with me. Everyone wants to be loved and cared for. And if something happens to you, we'll protect you. That's what friends do." He reached over and put his hand over mine as I struggled to swallow the bread in my mouth.

"You mean all that?" I asked curiously, even though I knew he did. I couldn't say how, exactly, but I did. I guess I had started to trust him. I trusted him to be honest with me and not lead me on or play me.

He nodded. "Every word."

I took in a deep breath before letting it out and looking at him with a smile. "Okay, so let's talk about you now."

Noah chuckled. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything," I said, pulling out the warm, soft center of my bread and sticking it in my mouth.

"Okay...well, I was born and raised in London, actually. Not too far from here." He took a piece of bread of his own and slowly broke it in half, letting the steam float out in pale wisps. "My dad's a Healer my mother used to be one too."

"She's not anymore?" I asked, picking up on his word choice.

"Hm?" he asked, looking up at me in surprise.

"You said your mother _used to_ be a Healer."

"Oh," he said, almost awkwardly. He cleared his throat and looked down at his bread again. "My mother quit when I was a kid and started working at a bakery. She actually just became assistant manager not too long ago. She worked her way up."

"Does she like it?" I asked.

Noah smiled. "Yeah, she actually really does," Noah said. "It's a lot less demanding than being a Healer."

"Yeah, a bit," I said with a laugh.

"You know, most people ask about the reason for the drastic switch," Noah commented lightly.

"Was I supposed to?" I asked as the waiter came over and set our pizza in front of us. It looked amazing and smelled even better.

Noah shook his head. "I prefer people don't ask." He grabbed a pice of pizza and set it on his plate as he shrugged.

"I get it more than anyone, trust me," I said. "I practically _invented_ the act of keeping things to myself."

Noah laughed before his face became serious. "My dad...I'm not sure if he-I'm assuming he's still a Healer." He cleared his throat. "He left us when I was seven."

My own face fell as I looked at him. All this time and we'd had something in common. "That's rough, Noah," I whispered.

"He cheated on my mum," Noah went on, his voice low. "With a nurse at the hospital he worked at. My mother caught them in the act herself." He shrugged. "Naturally, they got into a massive fight. My mother was outraged and hurt. And after my dad was caught, he chose the other lady and walked out on us and never looked back. He didn't even keep in contact or express any desire to see us again. It was weird-I'd think he'd want to continue seeing his son at the very least. Especially since we had been so close up until..."

"I know how it is," I said. "That's what it was like with my mother. We were so close and she left without a reason. I don't even know if she's alive. Sometimes I think that if she's dead, at least her not coming back for me is justified, which sounds terrible, but a part of me thinks it's better than her just ditching me and moving on without a care in the world."

Noah nodded. "I know my dad's not dead," he said. "He didn't even move out of London. I saw him out in Diagon Alley a few years ago with his new girlfriend-who I'm guessing he married. _And_ they had a kid with him. Around eleven. I think they were school shopping for him. Getting ready to see him off to Hogwarts."

"Noah..." I breathed, setting down my slice of pizza and looking at him.

"You know, for a while, I thought it was because he was ashamed of me," he said. "I thought it was my fault that he left, and even once my mother told me the truth, I wondered why he still didn't want to talk to me. I still wondered what I'd done for him to completely shut me out."

"You did nothing," I said.

"Neither did you," Noah said. "Whatever happened to make your parents leave, it had nothing to do with you."

"How do you know?" I asked. "My parents _both_ left me without a word. Nothing bad happened between them, so what else could it be?"

"Lots of things," Noah said. "Things you were too young to understand back then."

"I'm old enough now," I said, "and still left just wondering... _why_? Why me? What did I _do?"_

 _"_ Nothing," Noah whispered, meeting my eyes. "Absolutely nothing. Remember that. You were a child. An innocent child. Your parents are supposed to love you and take care of you. That's their job. And leaving without saying a word isn't part of the job description." He hesitated. "I know how hard it is to move on and to stop blaming yourself, but you've got to. You've got to let it go at some point. At least a little bit. Keeping it pent up inside you is going to drive you insane."

I didn't say anything as I thought that over. Instead, I picked at my slice of pizza until Noah changed the subject to lighten the mood. And eventually it worked. My spirits lifted again and his did too.

Once dinner was over, we walked through the streets of London, just taking everything in. At least, I was. Noah had spent all his life here. He knew it like the back of his hand.

We finally made it to the Ferris wheel and I tilted my head to look up at it. "It's so big from down here," I said.

"Want to go on?" Noah asked with a smile. "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"Luckily, I am not," I grinned, letting him take my hand and lead me even closer. He bought us tickets and then we waited in line for a bit until it was our turn. We stepped into the roomy compartment and immediately found a spot right up against the glass that covered the entire side of the compartment. I had to admit that I was excited. I actually couldn't help but wish I'd had a camera so that I could capture the moment forever. Just like in that old postcard.

Noah and I were quiet as the Ferris wheel slowly rotated, bringing us to the very top and giving me a spectacular view of the lit up city of London below me.

"I can't believe this is what birds get to see all the time," I said, pressing my forehead and the palm of my hand against the glass.

Noah laughed. "Are you saying you're jealous of _birds_?"

"Maybe. They just get to fly around all carefree and they get to have this _view_."

"I don't know," Noah said. "I'm sure they're not completely carefree. They can't sit by a warm fire when it's cold, they can't go inside and dry off when they're wet. They eat worms and seeds and garbage. And speaking from personal experience...I like the view I'm getting right now."

I turned my head away from the glass to see him leaning sideways against it, the side of his head resting on the glass as he gazed directly at me.

I blinked at him as my heart thumped in my chest. I felt myself turning so that my back was to the glass as Noah moved to stand in front of me. He gently put his hand on my cheek and I let him, my heart still beating wildly. He started leaning closer and I actually closed my eyes. I could sense him getting closer and closer and my heart was about to beat right out of my chest. He was going to kiss me and I _wanted_ him to. I wanted him to, but at the same time, I was so nervous. About everything. About kissing a boy, having someone be this close to me-physically and emotionally. What if it went horribly wrong? What if I did something wrong? What if he hated it? What if _I_ hated it? But at the same time, I wanted to do it.

At the last second though, I found myself sighing and turning my head. Noah's hand dropped from my cheek, but I could feel his other hand still resting on my hip.

"Noah, I'm sorry, I can't," I whispered.

He swallowed and looked down at the ground as he stepped back and ran a hand over his jaw. "Okay."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "It's just hard and I'm-"

"Scared," he finished. "Yeah, I get it."

"You don't have to act like you do," I said quietly, leaning back against the glass wall again. "Look...it's hard for me to let people get close to me in every sense of the word. But besides that, I've-I've never kissed anyone before."

Noah looked at me in surprise. "No?"

I shook my head. "Is that really a surprise to you?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I mean-why wouldn't any guy ever want to kiss you?"

I laughed. "Thanks. But they didn't. At school, I wasn't treated so nicely by a group of the most popular girls in school. And everyone else seemed to just ignore me. Whether it was because of those girls or for other reasons, who knows, but I was pretty lonely. And guys never seemed to take an interest either, unless it was part of a joke or a dare to ask me out."

"But _why_?" Noah asked, looking horrified.

I shrugged. "I was an outcast. I was extremely shy and quiet. I was afraid to talk to anyone and didn't even know how. When I first started school, I was scrawny and underfed and at dinner on the first night there, I'd never seen that much food before-I felt like I'd hadn't had a decent meal in forever. I couldn't help it-I ate like a complete and utter _pig_." I swallowed as my stomach and chest tightened at the memory. "So people teased me for it. Called me piggy, made oinking noises, the whole nine yards."

Noah sank back against the wall and let out a deep sigh. " _Merlin_ ," he breathed out. He looked at me. "You mean to tell me there was not one person at that school that was nice to you?"

I shrugged again. The Ferris wheel was still moving, but I'd lost track of how many times we'd gone around at that point and I was barely even noticing the view anymore. "There were the bullies," I finally said, "and there were people who did nothing, which wasn't helpful either. But I was fairly close to one of my teachers. And there was one girl in my year who came to my defense that first day, who was actually that professor's daughter. She was probably my only friend."

"What happened to her?"

I sighed and looked away. "She and my professor both died. My fourth year of school."

"Sophie, I am so sorry," Noah said quietly. "Can I ask you how they died?"

I looked away and folded my arms across my chest, but I couldn't answer. Instead, I found my eyes filling with tears.

"Hey, it's okay, another time," Noah said, turning so that he was in front of me again. He put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry for pushing you to talk."

"No, you didn't," I insisted. "You're so patient and you never push me to talk about anything. You don't know much about me at all and you still like me and want to spend time with me. You still think I'm worth being with."

"Of course I do," Noah said. "You've clearly been through some hard stuff that no one should have to go through. It's made you cautious and it's made it hard for you to trust people, but I'm willing to do what it takes to make you completely trust me." He smiled. "Whenever you're ready for anything...talking, kissing, whatever, let me know. I can wait. Like you said, I'm patient." He gave me a little smirk.

I let out a quiet breath of laughter. "Where were you when I was in school and in desperate need of a friend?"

He smiled again. "Across an entire ocean, sadly," he whispered.

I smiled and sighed as I looked away. Our ride on the Ferris wheel ended just then and we stepped out of the compartment and back onto the ground.

"I enjoyed that. Thanks for bringing me," I said.

"Anytime," Noah said. "So are you up for continuing on an informal tour of London or would you rather go back home?"

 _Home_. I picked up on his use of the word and half smiled. I didn't even feel any kind of need to protest against the word, which made me feel good and afraid all at once. Tom and Martha's did feel like home and I liked being there. I wanted to be there. But just for tonight, I wanted to stay away for a little longer.

"I think I have to seize the opportunity of having a friend who was born and raised in London show me around," I said.

"Oh so I'm your friend?" Noah said with a laugh.

"Of course you are," I said. "How could you not be? You treated me to dinner and a ride on a Ferris wheel."

Noah grinned and chivalrously held out his arm. "May I?"

"You may," I giggled, slipping my arm through his and letting him lead me down the sidewalk.


	14. Chapter 14

Much to my surprise, my night with Noah was mostly all I could think about for the next few days. I spent my time at work replaying it in my head, thinking of dinner, the Ferris wheel, the almost kiss, and talking to him about how miserable I'd been at school. And the fact that he was still nice to me afterwards. He still liked me. He didn't press me for more information for the rest of the night. He just showed me around London, talking about his own memories he'd had there as a kid and making me laugh with a few jokes sprinkled in here and there.

The night actually made me forget about everything else completely. The diary, the mystery woman, the necklace…it was all wiped from my mind and instead all I could think about was how I was finally beginning to feel like a normal girl with normal experiences.

I was jolted out of my thoughts the following Friday night by Noah appearing at my side as I cleaned a table and lightly bumping my hip with his own.

"Missed a spot," he teased, setting his bin of dirty dishes on the table next to me before collapsing into the booth and putting his feet up on the seat beside him. It was almost twelve thirty and not many people were left in the pub. We were minutes away from closing and I couldn't wait to get off my feet, but at the same time, I found myself not wanting the night to end. It meant less time spent with Noah—or at least less time gazing across the room at him as we both worked, too busy to actually talk to one another.

I smiled as I glanced over at him and continued scrubbing the tabletop in front of me. "Sitting down on the job?" I asked.

"I'm _tired_ ," he said.

"You weren't so tired when you were showing me around nearly all of London," I pointed out, finishing off my table and tossing my rag down. I turned and sent Noah a look, putting my hands on my hips.

He smirked at me, his dark brown eyes twinkling as he did so. "That's a little different," he said. "That was fun. This is work. In fact, I wish I was showing you around London again right now."

"It was fun," I agreed with a smile.

"Wow, you actually had fun?" Noah teased, pushing himself out of the booth and gently poking my arm. "You had _fun_? I can hardly believe it." He poked me again and I laughed.

"I'm capable of having fun," I giggled. "I'm just not used to it."

"I'm aware," he said. "Glad I could help you on that front." He actually took a deep bow and I laughed again and rolled my eyes. "Stop, Noah, don't…."

"Am I embarrassing you?" he asked.

"Mhm," I nodded.

Noah opened his mouth to say something else, undoubtedly some other joke or something about how he didn't care about drawing attention to us, but he was interrupted by someone clearing their throat from behind me.

"Sophie, can I talk to you for a moment?"

I turned to see Fred standing behind me, George at his side. The rest of the pub had actually cleared out while I'd been talking to Noah. I hadn't even noticed.

"Um, sure," I said, feeling suddenly almost dazed. I was so used to being alert to nearly everything and now I hadn't even heard the twins come up behind me and I hadn't even noticed the pub empty out because I'd been so focused on my interaction with Noah. It felt strange and I wasn't sure if I liked it. Surely it couldn't be a good thing. Could I afford to be caught so off guard like that?

Noah looked from me to Fred and I nodded at him slightly. "I'll close up, it's fine," I said. "You can take off."

"Are you sure?" he asked slowly, his eyes moving from me to the twins again.

"Positive. Go ahead."

Noah nodded before grabbing his bin of dishes and heading back to the kitchen. I turned back to the twins to see Fred staring at Noah's retreating back.

"Bit possessive over something that isn't his, isn't he?" he commented, turning back to me.

I raised an eyebrow. "Noah? Possessive? Just now? Hardly," I scoffed. "He just wanted to make sure I was okay with closing up on my own."

"Come on, Soph, don't be naïve," Fred snorted.

"What?" My eyebrows shot up and I was instantly back on guard, my muscles tensing and my posture straightening as I stared back at Fred. I wanted to cringe at his tone—the degrading kind used for talking down to someone else and making them feel irrelevant. It made my heart rate quicken and my stomach tighten unpleasantly, despite being put instantly on alert.

"He didn't want to leave you alone with us because he likes you and he's threatened," Fred said. "I overheard that you went out with him? He showed you around London?"

"Yes, he did," I answered. "Is that okay with you or are you feeling threatened as well? That would be pretty interesting, considering I'm not yours either, isn't that right?"

The second the defensive words were out of my mouth, I looked down and took a step backwards, shying away from Fred. I'd crossed a line for sure. I must have and now he was going to get angry.

"No," he finally said bitterly. "I've only been waiting to talk to you all night because I wanted to tell you that Bill gave us this back." He pulled the necklace out of his pocket and leaned over to firmly place it on the table behind me. "It's curse free. You can have it back. Maybe you can wear it when you're on your next date with Noah. Maybe it'll help you to not forget about us."

"I didn't forget about you," I protested in a whisper.

"Sure," Fred said. "I thought you seemed like you were in a daze tonight. You never even looked our way. And now I know why. You were on cloud nine, thinking about being with Noah."

"He's a nice guy, Fred," I whispered. "He's patient, he doesn't pressure me for information about my life."

"And we have?" Fred asked, gesturing between himself and George.

"No, of course not," I said. "But—"

"How much have you told him?" Fred asked.

"Not as much as I've told you."

Fred scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. "I've got to get out of here," he said quietly before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

"Fred, wait," I said, but George cut me off.

"Stay, finish closing up," he said gently, holding out a hand to stop me from heading after Fred. "I'll go after him. I can handle this."

"But—"

"Don't worry about it," he said, giving me a tight, brief smile. "Finish up here."

And then he was gone, disappearing into Diagon Alley after his brother.

I hurried through the rest of my closing duties, then scrawled a hurried note to Tom and Martha in case they somehow discovered my disappearance during the night. And then I rushed into Diagon Alley, taking it at a run to the twins' shop.

Most of my life, I'd run away from confrontation. I'd done my best to lay low, avoid any kind of mean or anger fueled gesture, and eventually avoid people in general. But in the events when I did come across those things, I'd simply just take it. It had become part of my nature, the older and more exhausted I got. And whenever I'd tried standing up for myself, it only made things worse, so I'd given up. It wasn't until recently that I'd found the courage to run away completely and it had been one of the hardest, most terrifying experiences of my life. I'd never wanted to run _to_ someone who was angry or upset. I normally would run _away_. But I was left confused and hurt by Fred's anger and I didn't want to brush this under the rug. I didn't want to avoid this. I wanted to make it better. For the first time in my life, I wanted to confront the anger instead of ignoring it and accepting it as deserved, too tired physically and emotionally to fight back.

When I finally reached Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, I rapped against the door anxiously, knowing that somewhere upstairs, those windchimes were going off and one of the twins would—hopefully—look out the window and see me and—again, hopefully—let me inside.

It was almost a full minute before I saw movement within the shop and then finally George appeared behind the glass of the front door. He opened it and peered out at me.

"What are you doing here?" he asked wearily.

"What do you think I'm doing here?" I asked. "I couldn't leave things the way they were. I felt—I felt as if I was being accused of things that weren't..."

"True?" George asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay, no, not exactly." I sighed and raked a hand through my hair, stopping when I got to the back and closing a fistful of it in my hand. "I felt that Fred's anger wasn't justified. I don't understand what happened and I want to fix it."

"Fred's not in the mood to fix anything," George said. "In fact, quite the opposite."

"What do you—oh no," I breathed, my shoulders deflating as I gave George a wide-eyed look. And then in quite an uncharacteristic move on my part, I slipped past him and ran for the back stairs that led to the flat.

"Sophie, no! Do not go up there!" George called from behind me.

I heard his rapid footsteps chasing after me, but I ignored both them and his cries as I took the stairs two at a time and pushed open the door to the flat.

And only then did I stop in my tracks. George finally caught up to me and I felt him behind me, panting slightly as we both surveyed the scene.

The living room of the flat was a mess. The cushions and pillows from the couch were strewn all over the room, as well as pieces of parchment and quills and even a bottle of ink. And there were three bottles of firewhiskey lying around from what I could see. All empty.

It took me a moment to actually find Fred. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the coffee table and his long legs splayed out in front of him as he drank from another bottle of firewhiskey.

"George," he called out. "I hope you told whoever was at that damn door to bugger the hell off."

I turned and looked at George, my mouth hanging open. "George," I whispered.

"Now you know what it looks like," he whispered back. "But this is tame compared to what he used to look like."

"This is all my fault," I groaned.

"No, Sophie, don't blame yourself," George muttered, looking away and running a hand through his hair. "You didn't do anything. You're right in feeling you're innocent because you are. But Fred's anger—you have to understand. He—"

"Oh, look who decided to show up!" Fred suddenly cried.

I whirled around to see him awkwardly getting to his feet. "Come to tell me some more _secrets_? Things that _no one else knows_? Things that you're only going to run and tell _Noah_?"

"No, Fred, I came to talk to you. I came to fix things. I came to defend myself because I don't think I did anything wrong."

"Oh, _please_!" Fred cried, flinging his firewhiskey bottle away with a flick of his wrist. It hit the wall and smashed, the remains of the drink splashing everywhere. I gasped, flinched and took two steps back, shying away from the situation as I felt my insides buzzing with nerves and fear. But I forced myself to stay put, swallow thickly and look back at Fred.

"Fred, please," I begged, inching further away as he came closer to me. "Stop."

"I thought you _trusted_ me," he said, his voice low.

"I do!" I protested, flattening myself against the wall.

"I thought I was helping you. I thought I was the one you were coming to about all this stuff going on. I thought-I thought I was the one you were confiding in, but it turns out you've also been running to Noah about your past! Have you told him about the diary as well? And about how you got that necklace?"

"No, Fred, he knows hardly anything."

"But he knows things you haven't told me," he went on.

"Why does it matter?" I asked, blinking at him in confusion. "I don't understand why you're this upset over-"

"Because I liked being the only one you trusted!" he practically roared.

I winced and pressed myself as hard as I could into the wall, wishing it would just swallow me whole.

"I felt special and I felt as if I were actually _doing something_ and being helpful."

"You were just using me, Fred," I whispered. "That's all you were doing. You deny it, but...it is what it is. How can it not be? Why else would you want to help me and why would you care _this much_? You help me and it takes your mind off of _your_ problems, which is great and all, but..." I took a deep breath as I tried to calm my nerves. My heartbeat was racing and I felt like electricity was running through my blood. My brain was practically running on autopilot. I was speaking without even thinking. "I can't afford to be doing this, Fred. A relationship like that isn't good for me. I need-I need someone who-"

"Someone who isn't fucked up?" Fred hissed. He actually took a step back from me as his shoulders sagged.

"No, Fred, you're not-" I began, stepping towards him and instantly regretting implying to him what I just had. No matter what I'd been thinking, I didn't have any proof and it was all just thoughts running through my mind, a seed watered into growth by talking to Rachel last weekend.

"Don't lie to me and _don't_ touch me," Fred spat, whirling away from me.

I just meant-isn't it like the blind leading the blind? How can we help each other when we can't even help ourselves? I mean, look at you. You're falling apart just because you thought I was confiding in someone else."

"I offered to help you with the diary," Fred muttered, "and I offered to help you find answers about your mother. That's what you want, isn't it? I wouldn't do that for just anyone."

"But I practically am _just anyone_. I'm some random girl who showed up out of nowhere!" I threw my arms out to the sides and let them flap back against my legs.

"You're a girl that I saw myself in," Fred said. "Tired, exhausted, determined, and trying to move on from difficult events of her past. I thought you of all people would get it. You weren't the talkative type so you wouldn't pressure me to talk. You knew what it was like to not want to forfeit information if you weren't ready. I thought you were the person who would understand _everything_. But I also liked that you didn't know what I was going through. I liked that you would never have a reason to _go easy on me._ My own siblings stopped teasing me like they used to. They always knew I could take it, but ever since last year, they're afraid I'd fall into, well, _this_." He gestured to himself. "Even George was doing it for a bit at first, but I managed to at least get him to knock it off."

George snorted, but didn't say anything.

"I was never using you, Sophie," Fred went on. "I just liked having you around. Even after you found out about Percy, you didn't change how you acted towards me. It was seamless. And even just now...you didn't come over here to see if I was okay. You came over to defend _yourself_."

"And you liked that?" I asked in confusion.

Fred smiled grimly. "Believe it or not, it was nice having someone _not_ worrying about me for once."

"Fred it's not that I-"

"No, stop. I know," he said, holding up his hand. He sighed. "I'm just so sick of people doing things to purposely not upset me. George is usually the only one who's brutally honest with me, even though it gets on my nerves in the heat of the moment. I know he'll tell me the truth and tell me I need to calm down. But he also knows when to back off and when to step in. Then again, he's also my twin. He knows me better than I know myself." He shrugged. "But it was nice having someone else around that had no previous knowledge of me whatsoever. On the other hand, that can apparently be a negative thing. Because you have no idea that I'd never use you or lie to you about any of this, no matter what you seem to think. I don't know what people have told you about me and what my intentions may or may not be, but they're wrong."

"Okay, fine. Can you answer me one question honestly, then?" I asked.

"Sure, why not?" Fred answered, laughing bitterly and turning back towards me with his arms crossed.

"How much of this is about Percy?" I whispered. "Besides how people are treating you after he died. You said you felt as if you were being helpful. So you couldn't save him and now you feel guilty so you're trying to help me to make up for it? Is that what this is? A project? I just...need to know."

Fred's expression clouded over again. "How dare you," he snarled, lowering his arms and turning towards me. His expression almost made my heart stop. "You asked me this already and I told you that it wasn't a fair question. Why can't you let it _drop_?"

I bit my lip and looked away. I had dug myself into a hole and now I didn't know how to get myself out of it. I was suddenly remembering why I'd always ran away from confrontations. It was so much easier that way. I'd come all the way here to talk to Fred and it was falling apart in front of my eyes.

"You know what? You're right," I said. "I'm sorry. I just needed to know for myself _exactly_ what you're getting out of talking to me and being my friend. I need to know what's going on in your head. I need to know if this relationship is _real_ or just something your using to help yourself. I need your honesty. Lies aren't going to help me. And behavior like this," I said gesturing around the room, "isn't going to help me _._ I am just so sick of meaning _nothing_ to people."

And then I turned for the door and started to leave. I hadn't made it five steps, however, before Fred spoke again. "Hang on a second-you can't just leave like that."

"You're not giving me much of a choice," I answered.

Fred lunged for me and grabbed onto my arm, spinning me around to face him. He was towering over me and his expression was clouded with anger. I let out an involuntary shriek as I flinched and wrenched myself away from him. "Don't touch me!" I yelled. "Don't _touch_ me!" And then I backed myself into the wall, looking at Fred in pure terror, my breaths coming in rapid, sharp gasps.

"Merlin, Fred," George said in a low voice as Fred's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He continued to stare at me in complete shock.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered, staring at Fred just as wide eyed as he was staring at me. I was so embarrassed and upset that I buried my head in my hands as tears came to my eyes. I slid down the wall to the floor and sat there, trying to calm myself down by taking one breath after another, holding each one before slowly exhaling. Just like Fred himself had instructed me to do. I heard Fred and George talking in low voices before I heard footsteps leaving the room. I stretched one of my legs out in front of me and kept my face pressed into my other knee for a moment longer, wrapping my arms around my leg and pulling it as close to my body as possible as I took in quiet hiccuping breaths.

When I finally raised my head, my cheeks stained with my tears, I was slightly surprised to see Fred sitting a few feet away, cross legged and holding one of the couch pillows to his chest. He was just staring at me seriously and apologetically, almost like a sad little boy.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, my voice raspy as I rested my elbow on my knee and propped my head against my hand.

" _You're_ sorry?" Fred asked. "I just acted like a complete animal and _you're_ sorry?"

I swallowed and swiped at my nose before resting my head on my hand again.

"George is making tea," Fred said.

"Great," I said dully.

"You were right, you know."

I glanced up at Fred in surprise. "About what?"

Fred lowered the pillow to his lap and began picking at it. He shrugged slightly. "You were right about this having to do with Percy. At least somewhat."

I didn't answer for a second. "Oh," I finally said.

Fred let out a quiet snort of laughter. " _Oh_ ," he repeated.

"I didn't want to be right about that, Fred," I said.

"Well, you were," he said. "Maybe a part of me thought that by helping you get answers and get pieces of your life _back_ , it would alleviate all the guilt I felt about being the reason my brother _lost_ his life. I thought it would help me be mentally even with myself so I could stop feeling like utter crap about it. And then all this would go away. And people would stop watching what they say and do around me. I know my mother told everyone not to purposely _rile me._ Honestly, how is that supposed to make me feel? It's been a year, I want to move on, but it's hard and I feel like people won't let me, even if they aren't doing it intentionally. Even if they think they're helping me."

"It's not your fault, Fred," I said. "I'm sure part of you knows that, but I also know how powerful minds can be. They can manage to be practical, but at the same time have you convinced of something that's not true in the least."

Fred shrugged. "In any case, I'm sorry. For making you feel used. That's not true. You don't mean nothing to me. And I'm also sorry for what I did just now. Grabbing you like that. Scaring you."

I nodded, but didn't say anything.

"I know I said I didn't want help at first," Fred went on, "and I didn't. But then I couldn't help it. Being with you _did_ take my mind off of the crappy aspects of my life I kept dwelling on and it did make me feel like I was making a difference in _someone's_ life. It felt _really_ good getting you to open up to me because I know you don't do it to just anyone. Out of everyone you could have confided in, you confided in _me_. I thought it meant that I must be doing something right. And then I also liked genuinely being around you the more time we spent together. And just now...you asked me an honest question for the second time since we've met because you wanted an honest answer for yourself, but it made me have to be honest with myself as well. I think I have to do that-be honest with myself-before I can improve."

"I just...needed to know where we stood," I said. "Before any of this went any further. I've told you all this difficult stuff about myself. I've been vulnerable. And it would just come out. You'd tell me something about you and I seemed to always have some way I could connect what you said to my own life."

"When I talked to you about being drunk all the time on _purpose_ ," Fred said, "you told me about how girls at school got you drunk and left you alone on the stairs and how scary it was. When I told you about Percy's death, you told me about how hurt you were not knowing where your relationship stood with your family while I did. You didn't tell me it should be any less painful because of that. You didn't tell me to be grateful like I thought you would. Your point was that yes, it's bloody terrible to experience loss, but that I still knew Percy loved me, which is more than some people had."

"People like me," I said, resting my chin on my knee.

Fred nodded solemnly. "You've been through such a hard time, partly because of people like me, and yet...you listen to me. You even said at first that you didn't have time for other people's issues because you couldn't handle your own, and yet...here you are. You opened up to me and didn't judge me for any of the stuff I told you. And you aren't judging me right now. In fact, I'm impressed and grateful that you didn't run out the door screaming tonight. I'm everything you're afraid of and you still didn't run. It's amazing to me because I can't help but feel astounded and confused that you aren't running but...Angelina did."

I looked up at him and studied him, processing what he just said. "I haven't forgotten how you and George defended me to those guys at the pub back in May," I said. "That set you apart. When you hit me with the door at the Three Broomsticks, you took care of me. And then when I had that panic attack, you came out and calmed me down. You knew just what to do. And then not too long ago, you told me that if anyone was after me, they'd have to go through you first. You told me you were protective of your friends. I think I somehow knew that if I was going to get myself into trouble, you and George were the right two people to go to. You'd know just how to help me. You wouldn't laugh or tell me I was crazy or tell me to get rid of that diary or the necklace. You'd react just how I needed you to react."

Fred smiled slightly, his eyes roaming over my face. "Despite the pranks and the alcohol."

"You _have_ been nice to me," I said. "You've teased me a bit, but you've never seriously played a joke on me. I know that. I'm just...afraid. And I know you're working on the alcohol thing. It's not exactly your fault."

"Don't make excuses for me," Fred said. "It is my fault and it has been my choice for the past year. But I want to fix it."

"Exactly," I said with a smile. I let out a slow puff of air and looked at the ceiling. "It's just so hard for me to feel assured that things aren't going to end, that people aren't going to leave and that people genuinely like me. There's part of me that still thinks that it's all a joke or that it's not genuine."

"What-or who-gave you all these crazy ideas about why I like spending time with you anyway?" Fred asked. "Or were they your own thoughts that were...I don't know, recently fueled by something someone else said?"

I hesitated, a little bit amazed that he'd pretty much nailed what had happened. I also didn't want to get Rachel in any trouble by saying something, but I did feel like I owed Fred an honest answer. However, he seemed to take my hesitation as confirmation of an answer he already knew.

"Rachel, huh?" he asked.

I nodded slowly.

"Damnit," Fred muttered, sighing deeply and running his hands through his hair.

"Sorry," I responded.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault. I can understand why you'd take what she said and let it make you worry. You're someone who-"

"Who's fucked up?" I whispered, using Fred's own words to describe myself this time, as I stared over Fred's head at the wall across the room.

Fred inhaled slowly through his nose before exhaling. "I was going to say you're someone who clearly hasn't had many people prove themselves to you over the years."

I swallowed and stretched my other leg out in front of me, flexing my feet and staring aimlessly at them. "My mother and father both left me," I said. "You know that story. I went into foster care where _no one_ ever wanted to keep me, even if they were fairly kind to me. You know all those details too. One of the things I told Noah was that I asked for ice skates in my first foster home, but they couldn't afford them, so they gave me a postcard of an ice rink instead. I loved that thing at first. It reminded me of going ice skating with my mom and it reminded me of all the good times I spent with her. But then over the years I just grew more and more miserable and more and more bitter. I used to want to go into photography so that I could take pictures that would bring people some kind of happiness, peace, joy, whatever. I wanted to be able to freeze moments in time with one click of a button. But sometimes when moments are frozen, even if they're good ones, it just makes you realize that you can't ever get them back."

"Well, the memories themselves are still good," Fred said. "And I'd like to think that counts for something, but I know what you mean. It's still hard for me to think about memories of Percy. It was hard on everyone for a while, but it got easier for them faster than it did for me. Mum and Dad could look at old photos before I could. They started slowly talking about him more without crying, or in my case, flipping out. Things are still a bit odd, but they're better. And I know Ginny's right. We can't forget he existed. That would be an insult to him. We _have_ to hold on to those memories or else he'll truly be gone in every sense of the word. Didn't you essentially tel me the same thing at one point? That night out in the back alley after you'd first come over to the Burrow?"

I actually found myself smiling slightly. "I did and you have a point."

"Of course I do," he said with a grin. "I'm not a complete imbecile."

I let out another sigh and looked up at the ceiling. "So...then in school I was teased constantly. I told you about that group of girls that got me drunk. They were the ringleaders and everyone followed what they did. Most people avoided me for at least one of two reasons: either because those girls did and they were afraid or wanted to be like them. And the other reason was because they found me odd all on their own. I kept to myself, was painfully shy, very focused on schoolwork. And I didn't know how to make friends either. I was horrible at it. If someone did try to talk to me, I eventually chased them away by being pretty unresponsive."

"You don't seem painfully shy or unresponsive now," Fred said.

I shrugged. "I don't think I was like that as a kid either."

Fred thought about that for a minute. "Is it safe to guess that your most recent foster home had something to do with that?"

I nodded. "It was probably the icing on the cake," I said. "I was already worn down by being moved from home to home so often and the last foster home I was in just...drained me even more." I swallowed again. "Anyway, when I first started school, I wasn't used to seeing that much food. And it was _well-made_ too. It had been such a long time since I'd seen food like that due to either money issues or just lack of caring about exactly what we were eating at home. I wasn't necessarily _starving_ , but I wasn't given food like I saw at school, that was for sure. I wasn't used to just being able to have as much as I wanted. So I went a little crazy. And people teased me." I reached up and pushed the tip of my nose upwards, making a snort sound as I did so.

Fred closed his eyes and turned away. "Soph..."

"I got all my clothes magically turned pink once. As well as my hair," I went on. "By that same group of girls. As I said, they did most of the teasing, but nobody ever really jumped in. Except one girl. She became my only friend at school. In fact, remember I told you about that one professor I was close with? It was her daughter." I swallowed. "And then...they died. Both of them." I swallowed. "It was a hit and run car accident. They lived in Salem, too, actually and one day they were walking down the street, and a car just...hit them. And the person driving was gone by the time anyone from law enforcement could get there. They were never caught. It's been six and a half years."

"Was there any kind of investigation?" Fred asked as George suddenly came back into the room, levitating three mugs of tea in front of him. Fred and I reached out and each took one, smiling at George in thanks as he sat down in the space to my left, the three of us forming a triangle.

"Sure," I said. "But no one was ever caught. The car that hit them even ended up being stolen so there really were no leads."

"What the hell did I miss?" George asked in alarm. "Stolen cars? People getting hit by stolen cars?" He raised an eyebrow.

I sighed and let out a breath of bitter laughter as I stared down into my tea.

"Sophie was just telling me how close she was to one of her professors at school," Fred said, "and the professor's daughter, who was also her classmate. They stuck up for her when other people weren't very nice. And then someone hit them with a car."

George was silent. "No wonder you ran away from home," he finally said and I snorted. "So let me get this straight," he went on. "You lived with your mother and things were fine and happy until she one day dragged you out of the house in the middle of the night, saying you had to leave, but not telling you why. And then she left you in the museum she used to work at, told you she'd be back, and then never returned."

I nodded slowly. "Correct."

"And then," George continued, "you were put into foster care, bouncing around from one to another for various reasons. And then you were in your most recent one from age eleven. And I'm guessing some serious shit went down in that foster home-things you haven't fully told us about yet, which is fine. All in your own time. And at school you had issues making friends, people weren't nice to you, and the two people that actually kind of took you under their wing were killed. And no one was ever caught."

"Yeah," I said. "At least that's the short version of it all. I've never been able to make any sense of it either. People just seemed to think it was an accident and the culprit ran away to avoid getting in trouble. They thought alcohol could've been involved. But it was just one more thing that I wanted answers to and never got."

Fred and George looked at each other before looking back at me, identical smirks spreading over their faces.

"Oh no, what?" I asked hesitantly.

"What if we helped you find that out too?" George asked.

I shook my head. "No."

"You just said it's something else you'd like to have closure for," Fred said. "If you ask me, it sounds like your whole life is full of unanswered questions."

"It is," I said. "But I came here to escape my past-at least my recent past, not dig up old dirt from so long ago."

"How's that working for you?" Fred asked in amusement. "Escaping your recent past?"

"Yeah, would you say that's going...well, perhaps?" George asked.

"Swimmingly?" Fred continued.

"Without a hitch?"

"Okay, enough," I said, actually letting out a breath of laughter. "I just want to move on."

"Can you even do that without answers?" Fred looked at me quizzically. "I mean, I just told you that I didn't think I could fully move on from my own issues if I wasn't honest with myself."

"I'm honest with myself," I said. "This is different. Not having answers isn't the same as being dishonest."

"Are you sure?" Fred asked, tilting his head.

I nodded. "And by the way, I think about getting answers all the time and of course I'm curious. But-"

"But you're afraid," Fred said."Look, thinking about answers isn't the same as having them. For example, I'm thinking about your answer to my question, but I don't have it because you haven't given it to me."

"Oh, honestly," I sighed, letting out a quiet laugh. "Fine, I'm trying to move on without them. I've lasted this long with no answers about anything. Happy now?"

"I am, but are you?" Fred asked. "You're really content with just trying to move on without answers? Instead of facing your fears?"

I stared at him over the top of my mug of tea. "Fred, my past is a mess. My current life is a mess. I'm not sure it's best to go digging around. It's just easier to leave things as they are."

"Easier, sure," Fred said, setting his mug down, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands. "But what's going to make you happiest?"

I thought about that for a moment. "Like you said, I'm afraid. Afraid of what I'll find out. I'm afraid of getting hurt again. What if the person who was driving that car has been living some fantastic life somewhere without any repercussions of what they did? And what if my mother's been alive all this time? What if she really just didn't want me?"

"If what you said is true, I don't see how that's possible," George said. "You made it seem like you were so close."

"She taught you how to ice skate, yeah?" Fred said. "She used to take you all the time. You two had all these plans to travel. To go to New York, Paris...to come _here_."

"You know, that's part of the reason I chose to come here after I ran away," I said. "Because of her. That and the fact that we have English ancestry."

" _Really,"_ Fred said.

I nodded. "None of our immediate ancestors lived here. They'd been in America for centuries. But they were here at one point way back when." I sighed. "I guess I still felt as if coming here would give me some connection to my mother and just to family in general. Even if ancestors I'd never met had lived here, well, they were here."

"Did your mother ever tell you anything about them?" George asked.

I shrugged. "She really didn't know much. It was centuries ago, like I said."

"Yeah, but what about some of your more recent ancestors? Grandparents, great-grandparents, uncles, aunts... _great_ uncles and aunts?"

"I've never met anyone from my dad's side of the family, understandably. And never heard anything about them either. And on my mom's side...her father died when I was a baby, and her mother when I was four. My mother was an only child. My family wasn't very big and there wasn't anyone left by the time my mother left me. If there was, do you think I would have ended up in foster care?"

Fred and George were quiet as they thought about that.

"What was your mother's name?" Fred asked.

"Rebecca," I said. "Rebecca McConnell. After my dad left, she changed both her and my last name back to her maiden one."

"Okay, so..." Fred said, furrowing his brow in thought, "couldn't we go look for some kind of newspaper articles or something? Maybe there was some kind of report of her going missing or...well, a death."

"But wouldn't we have to go all the way to Salem in order to do that?" George asked.

"And?" Fred asked. "Where's your sense of adventure, Georgie?"

"Salem's in a whole different country, Fred. That's some major traveling. And we'd have to organize a Portkey..."

"I Apparated," I said.

George gaped at me. "You _did_? And it worked? Without you getting hurt?"

I smiled slightly. "Not exactly. I got pretty splinched. No entire body parts or limbs went missing, though."

"How'd you pull that off?" George asked.

"Practice," I said. "Longer and longer distances. I knew it was a big risk to Apparate across a whole ocean, but I didn't have a choice. There are only certain spots where Portkeys are authorized to go. For example, I couldn't just appear in Muggle London, obviously. So naturally, every Portkey needs to be authorized by the government. I don't know if it's the same here, but that's how it is in America. And I couldn't just waltz into the government offices and request a Portkey. Not in the physical state I was in. They'd ask a bunch of questions and I'd get attention drawn to myself."

George nodded. "Right. Makes sense. And it is the same here, by the way. In any case, I'm not about to risk losing any more body parts." He reached up and pushed his hair aside, revealing that his left ear was missing.

My mouth fell open. "How did _that_ happen? And how did I never notice?"

"You wouldn't notice unless you have x-ray vision, to see through all of this luscious red hair," George said lightly. "And if you must know, I lost it in a pretty nasty duel against an ogre." He sighed. "He put up a good fight, but I got him in the end. Not before he took my ear, though."

"Liar," I said with a snort.

George laughed. "Truthfully, I was hit with a curse when we went to get Harry from his aunt and uncle's house almost two years ago now. We had this big thought out plan put together involving Polyjuice Potion and everything so that we could get Harry to safety when he became of age, but we were ambushed, and I was hit from behind with a curse."

I gaped at him. "Wow," I said.

"It made him even more so the uglier twin," Fred said matter of factly, grinning at his brother. "Pushing me even further into first place."

George rolled his eyes. "No, I disagree. Battle wounds are sexy, it's a proven fact. Backed up by lots of research."

"Mhm, sure," Fred snorted. "Tell me, how sexy was it when I had a fractured leg, broken pelvis and dislocated hip?"

George's face paled slightly, but he managed to put a smile on his face. "I thought you looked dashing."

"Yeah, what about even after it was healed but I still struggled to move faster than a shuffling walk for weeks?" Fred asked. "Or even now when part of my left side occasionally aches, especially when it rains."

"It's a good power to have," George said. "You always know when a storm is coming."

Fred shot his brother a look, while I cleared my throat. I could sense things getting tense and I didn't want Fred to suddenly go back to the place he was in when I arrived. Obviously, and understandably so, the night of the battle was a tough subject and there was only so much he could take when talking about it. From the looks of things, his tolerance for the subject had gone up quite a bit, but tonight we were just about reaching his limit.

"So...why were you moving Harry anyway? Why the need for this huge thought out plan?" I asked, changing the subject.

"That's a long story," Fred sighed. "One for another time, probably. I think we should get back to the topic at hand."

"Which is what?" George asked. "Going back to Salem? Like I said, we can't just _leave_ the country on a whim."

"We've left the country before, or have you forgotten all about Egypt?" Fred argued.

"That was a vacation, Fred."

"You've been to Egypt?" I asked curiously.

"Mm," Fred nodded. "We went to visit Bill the summer before our fifth year."

"What was that like?" I asked in interest. "I'll bet it was beautiful."

"It was a lot of fun," Fred said. "I'm sure it was educational too, but George and I weren't interested in that. We were interested in all the mummies and more importantly, the treasure."

"Not that we could touch any of it, obviously," George said. "Curses and whatnot."

"Do you have any pictures?" I asked.

"Yeah," George nodded. "I think they're all back at the Burrow, though. There was even a photo printed in the _Prophet_. Dad won the money for that trip at work, so there was an article printed."

"That sounds like an amazing trip," I sighed.

"George and I actually tried to shut Percy in a pyramid," Fred said quietly, a reminiscent smile coming over his face. "But Mum caught us."

There was silence in the room for a moment before Fred snapped out of his apparent trance, blinked, and looked between George and me.

"What?" he asked.

"I think that was the first time you've done that," George said.

"Done what?"

"Openly talked about a memory of Percy...and _you_ even brought it up."

Fred blinked again before shrugging slightly. "Yeah, I guess it is." He turned back to me. "You like to travel?"

"What gives you that idea?"

"All your stories about travel plans with your mother," he said. "And the fact that you were just so curious about Egypt."

I smiled almost wistfully. "Yeah, if I could, I would probably travel all the time. See the world..." I trailed off and cleared my throat as I looked down at my tea. "Believe me, I never imagined it happening the way it has been. I bounced around America a bit and then came here, but I spent my time in the streets or in disgustingly cheap motels. But when what little money I'd managed to take with me was gone, it was strictly the streets. When I used to dream of seeing the world, it was never like that." I inhaled deeply through my nose. "Remember how I said I used to want to go into photography? I loved taking pictures of places the most. I always thought I could travel, see the world, take some photos and just enjoy the beauty of the world. But it's hard to appreciate beauty when you're starving, falling asleep to the scent of garbage and waking up to pigeons poking at your face. And then there was the fact that I didn't even own a camera. I tried to buy one once at a thrift store in Salem, but my foster dad made me sell it back and give him the money."

Fred let out a scoff of disgust. "He sounds like a real asshole."

I let out a breath of laughter. "Understatement of the century." Before anyone else could say anything, I went on. "Anyway, I don't even know if looking for my mother in Salem newspapers would do any good. I don't even know if she stayed local. I imagine that when she left, she left town completely."

"That doesn't mean the town she had spent a majority of her life in wouldn't run a story if something came up on her," George said.

"True, I suppose," I said slowly. "But also...the truth is that I don't know if I can face going back there just yet. Not now anyway."

"Fair enough," Fred said. "So...for now we just keep reading that diary and go from there?"

I nodded. "I suppose so."

"But for the record," Fred said. "I think you should get those answers. Even though you're afraid. Because if you keep waiting until you're ready, you'll never be ready, you know?"

I looked up at him, impressed. "I didn't know you were so insightful," I said.

"Yeah, well, I am," he said with a grin. "Besides, I know for a fact that as frustrating as it is to have people push you to face things...it helps in the end. _And_...if I'm going to be honest with myself about how I've been affected by Percy's death, then I think you need to also get some honesty in your life. Get all the cards out on the table. Find yourself some truth so you can move on. We can do it together."

I met his eyes and just stared back at him for a moment, not saying anything. Finally, Fred broke the moment by smiling and turning to gather up all of our mugs to bring to the kitchen and I took that as my cue to leave.

"I should get going," I said, pushing myself to my feet. "It's already almost three in the morning. In another few hours, Tom and Martha will be getting up for the day, believe it or not."

The twins both groaned. "I don't know how they do it," Fred said. "In fact, I don't know how _you_ did it. Working all those hours before you finally agreed to shorter shifts and a day off a week."

I half smiled. "Work was _my_ distraction," I said.

"Are you okay going back by yourself?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, of course," I answered. "It's not far."

"You're sure?" he asked.

I nodded. "Positive."

"Okay, well at least let me walk you to the front door," he offered.

I agreed before turning to give a goodbye wave to George. And then I let Fred lead the way out of the flat, down the stairs, and across the shop to the front door, where we came to a stop.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you by talking to Noah," I said. "I didn't mean to make you feel-"

"Don't apologize," Fred said, holding up a hand. "I was being selfish. You should open up to whoever you feel comfortable with. And if it's more people than just me, then that's-that's great."

"Noah's really sweet," I pointed out.

Fred nodded and cleared his throat. "Yeah, I know. He's a good guy."

I reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and surprising Fred, but also surprising myself with the action. "Thank you, by the way," I said. "For returning that necklace. And even asking Bill in the first place to check if it was cursed. I appreciate it."

"Are you going to wear it?" Fred asked.

"I suppose so," I said after a moment, dropping his hand.

Fred smiled. "Might as well. I'd never take it off if I got a free necklace."

"You're into wearing jewelry?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "If someone dropped a free necklace into your lap right now, you'd jump at the chance to wear it?"

"Nah, I'd give it to George. Things like that would look way better around his dainty neck."

I let out a giggle at Fred's joke. "I'm sure it would."

"In any case," Fred went on. "I'm not as much into jewelry as I am into free stuff."

"Yeah, well, if the world accommodated wishes like that, you and George would be in trouble." I gestured around the shop. "Your whole career depends on making money."

"So does everyone's," Fred snorted.

"True," I said, a smile turning up the corner of my mouth. "Anyway, I really should get going. I'll see you around?"

Fred nodded. "Yeah, of course." He opened the door to the shop and I stepped out before turning and giving him a tiny wave and an equally tiny smile.

"Hey, Soph?" Fred called from the doorway as I started to turn away.

"Hm?" I asked, turning back around.

"Thanks," Fred said. "For coming over tonight. I know it put you out of your comfort zone. I know you didn't want to see me the way I was. _I_ didn't want you to see me the way I was. I know it must have scared you. And I know you say you came to defend yourself, but you still came. And you were honest. You asked me stuff without worrying about it making me angry."

I snorted. _Yeah, at first_ , I wanted to say.

"As you already know," Fred went on, "I prefer that to when people tiptoe around me when I'm in a mood. When they all whisper _just let him be_." He shrugged. "And I'm sorry for freaking out on you too. At the pub...and earlier in the flat."

"I know," I said, nodding. "You may be a lot of things, but you're not mean, Fred."

"How can you be so sure?" He asked, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms.

"Like I said, I haven't forgotten what you did the day those-what did you call them? Baboons?-tripped me and threw a drink in my face." I smiled slightly. "I know mean, Fred, and you're not it."

And with that, I gave him one last smile and a wave and turned back towards the Leaky Cauldron.


	15. Chapter 15

As the weeks went on, I found myself hanging out more with not only the girls from work, but Noah as well. I spent more days alone with him as well as time with the others from work. We'd walk through Diagon Alley together and we even sometimes ventured back out to Muggle London.

At the beginning of July, we all went out for Rachel's twenty-second birthday to the Three Broomsticks, where everyone teased her for being a full year older than the rest of us and she pointed out that Noah was the same age as her. To that, Noah pretended as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

Kayla, Allie and I had even baked her a cake and surprised her with it at the table and Kayla got the whole pub to join in singing Happy Birthday.

"It's amazing how people can do that, isn't it?" I whispered to Noah as everyone in the pub clapped and Rachel blew out her candles.

"Do what?" he whispered back.

I tilted my head towards Kayla. "Things like that. Get up in front of the whole pub, announce that it's someone's birthday and ask that they all help sing? I'd almost rather jump into a pot of boiling water."

Noah chuckled. "Kayla's always been like that," he said. "It's funny, but sometimes it gets her in trouble. No shame, no filter, no worries." He shrugged. "Kind of like Fred and George, actually."

I nodded. "It's just strange to me how there's no fear of people judging them. They don't think twice about other people's opinions."

Noah shrugged again. "Some people are going to be judgmental anyway, no matter what you do, so why hold back, I guess. Right?"

"True," I said thoughtfully. I thought about Elizabeth's diary and how the people of Salem were constantly being judged. And some-well, most-of the judgements weren't even accurate. But no matter how someone acted-whether they were laying low or drawing attention to themselves-everyone was in danger. It didn't make a difference.

It made me wonder if my plan to lay low would even make a difference. I was beginning to think it didn't. Already, strange stuff had been happening to me. I'd made friends, sure, but I had done nothing to bring attention to myself. I had done nothing that would have drawn anyone to me from America. But would it have mattered if I did? Did I even have a shot at survival or was I just doomed from the beginning?

"What's wrong?" Noah asked as he took the slice of cake Kayla was passing him and set it in front of me. "You eat cake, don't you?"

I laughed and nodded as Kayla passed Noah a piece of cake for himself.

"Then what's going on in that head of yours?" Noah asked.

"Too much," I said. "It's all one big mess."

"Well, what's the least messiest thought in there, then?" Noah asked, a small smile hitching up the corner of his mouth.

I hesitated. One thought had immediately jumped to the front of my mind, but I was afraid to say it. Afraid of Noah, well, judging me. But then I remembered what he said. _Some people are going to be judgmental anyway, no matter what you do, so why hold back?_ I thought of how in awe I was of Kayla's fearlessness and even the twins' same trait. I thought of how tired I was of being afraid. Afraid of being judged, of being teased, of being laughed at. Afraid of my past, afraid of the future. Afraid of everything.

"The least messiest thought is how great I think you are," I whispered quickly, glancing at Noah and then quickly glancing away.

He was quiet, which got me to look up at him again. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, but he was smiling.

"Really," he whispered.

"Mhm," I answered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

He smiled wider. "Suddenly, the awesomeness of this cake has seriously diminished. Compared to what you just said, this cake means nothing."

"Oh, come on," I laughed.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Noah asked. "Go for a walk?"

I hesitated for a second, glancing out the front windows at the dark, empty street. Normally, after being put so on edge by the diary and the necklace, I'd be weary of being out on a dark, empty street alone. But technically, I wouldn't be alone. I'd have Noah. And that also didn't mean I'd have to be any less alert than usual. I could still be in tune to my surroundings and enjoy being with him. Couldn't I? I hoped so.

"Sure," I told him before I could change my mind.

He smiled and stood up, offering his hand as he did so. I looked at it for a second and then I took it and let him help me up.

Noah leaned down close to Rachel's ear and whispered something to her-probably along the lines of happy birthday, but Sophie and I are leaving now. She smiled and then a smirk lifted up a corner of her mouth and she looked past Noah at me.

"Have fun," she said coyly.

"You don't mind that we're leaving, do you?" I asked.

"I might have if you were leaving separately. Or if you were leaving to go sit home by yourself. But you're leaving _together_ , which makes me very happy." She grinned widely and gestured for me to come closer. I squatted down by her chair and she leaned in to whisper in my ear. "If you come to me tomorrow and tell me that you kissed him, you win best birthday gift."

"Rach, honestly," I sighed, pulling away as she cackled with mirth.

"It'll be my second successful set up," she said.

" _Goodbye,_ Rachel," I said, rolling my eyes and smiling as I stood up again and let Noah lead me from the restaurant.

The two of us began walking down the street in silence. It was almost ten o'clock at night and the shops were already closed. The street was dark except for the moonlight and the light that was spilling out of the windows of the pub, which grew fainter and fainter as we walked further away, still hand in hand.

"I was wondering," Noah said suddenly. "Do you want to have dinner with me and my mother one of these days?" He paused and looked at me. "She wants to meet you."

"She does?" I asked.

He nodded and smiled at me warmly. And then his cheeks turned light pink and he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "I-uh-may have told her a lot about you."

"What'd you tell her?" I asked.

"Let's see," Noah said, looking up at the sky as he let a puff of air out of his mouth. "I told her how nice you were. And funny. And sweet. I told her you were quiet, but polite and hard working. I told her I like being around you. I told her you're beautiful and have the prettiest giggle. I told her I felt like I could tell you things. I can trust you. I think the fact that you've been through a lot makes you understand a lot. If that makes sense. Not to make it seem like anything you've been through is good. But-"

"No, I know what you're getting at," I said. "I've seen how crappy the world can be. I know it better than most people."

"Exactly," Noah said. "So, for example, when I told you about what happened with my dad, I knew you'd truly get it. Although...I think you've been through more hardships than me. Just from what little I know...sometimes I worry that my issues must seem silly compared to yours. I never had trouble with bullying. I've always had friends. I've always had my mum."

"Your problems aren't silly, Noah," I said. "Your problems and your feelings are all legitimate. They're real and they should be treated seriously. Do I wish my life was different growing up? Easier? Yeah, I do. But then, I don't think I would've ended up here. And if I did, it would have been under different circumstances. I might never have met you or Rachel or Tom and Martha."

"Are you still thinking of leaving?" Noah asked in a whisper, turning to face me as we came to a stop in front of the candy shop. It was dark inside, but the windows were full of colorful displays of every kind of sweet imaginable. Not that I was noticing too much of that at the moment.

"Noah, I have so much baggage," I said.

"Well, you could always let me help you unpack," he said. "Put all your things to rest, nice and neat in a dresser drawer." He smiled and took a step closer to me.

"I don't want you to get hurt," I whispered.

"I'm a big boy," he said quietly, his eyes roaming over my face. "Unpack your baggage and stay for a bit, yeah? Aren't you tired of running? Tired of being so afraid?"

I blinked up at him. It was like he'd read my mind earlier. "Yeah," I whispered. "I am."

"You're safe here," he went on. "You have people here who care about you. We'll protect you and protect each other. Hell, you should have seen us all back when we were in that war against Voldemort. We were all terrified, but we all did what we could to protect each other. And we'll do the same for you."

My eyes filled with tears and I turned away, trying to compose myself.

"Hey," Noah whispered, lightly placing a finger on my chin and turning me to face him again. "Don't cry."

"I'm not used to people telling me something like that," I said, my voice shaky. "And even though I know you mean it, there's a part of me that's so filled with doubt. A part of me that's saying you can't possibly mean that."

"But I do," he said. "How can I prove it to you? I'm not sure I can unless you let me. Let me in, let me help you. Let me fight for you."

I closed my eyes and let out an involuntary sob. I felt Noah's finger brush my cheek and when I didn't move or flinch away, he cupped my face with his whole hand, brushing my tears away with his thumb.

Finally, I took in a ragged breath and looked up at him. I gave him a watery smile. "I'd love to meet your mother," I said.

Noah let out a breath of laughter. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

Noah smiled, his thumb still lightly traveling over my cheek as he looked down at me. He chewed on his bottom lip and his brow furrowed as he seemed to be thinking about something. "Is it tacky if I ask to kiss you?" he asked. "Normally I'd just go for it, but I don't want a repeat of last time and I don't want to upset you any more, but I _really_ want to-"

"I appreciate the fact that you asked," I whispered with a smile. "But I'm afraid I might not be that good of a kisser. You might end up instantly changing your mind about everything you just told me."

"I thought you were tired of being afraid," Noah said with a smile. "And also...I'm not that much of a prick. Ditching a girl after one kiss. Honestly, what kind of guy do you take me for?"

"One I'm not sure I deserve," I whispered.

Noah didn't respond. Instead, he just looked at me for a moment before slowly leaning closer. I closed my eyes and held my breath and then he was kissing me. I froze and stiffened for a moment due to pure nerves and inexperience. But after a second, I found myself following instinct and Noah's lead as I kissed him back. A little timidly, but it was something. And I don't think he minded.

I pulled away first, looking up at Noah with a small, teasing smile. "Was it terrible? You can tell me if it was."

"It was by no means terrible," Noah said with a chuckle. "The way you froze at first, I thought _I_ was terrible."

I snorted and swatted him. "Untrue."

Noah let out a laugh, but then something caught his eye over my shoulder and he frowned.

"What's wrong?" I asked, turning around, pulling myself out of his hold in the process. Nothing was behind me except the empty street.

"I just thought I saw something move at the corner of the alleyway," Noah said, heading towards the alley beside the candy shop.

"Maybe it was just a cat or a bird or something," I said nervously, hesitantly following him as he moved to stand at the mouth of the alley. We both stared down it, but all was dark, silent, and still.

"Maybe," Noah said slowly. He took a step into the alley, but I grabbed his arm.

"Noah, don't. Let's just go." My heart was racing and goosebumps were prickling my arms. It was one thing for me to feel paranoid, but if Noah thought he was seeing things, that wasn't a good thing. I could only hope it was an animal or some kind of trick of the light.

"Yeah, okay," Noah said, still squinting down into the alley. I tugged on his arm and he finally turned, taking my hand again and leading me down the street. I turned and looked over my shoulder one last time and saw nothing but the still empty street, normal as can be.

But I still had goosebumps.

* * *

 _"Come on, honey, don't be afraid. Come inside."_

 _I stood on the front stoop of the small, two story white house, clutching a duffel bag of my belongings while a backpack hung from my shoulders. I stared down at the ground, even when the couple that lived in the house opened the door. Even when the social worker lady told me that this was my new home, these people were my new family and to say hello. I mumbled a quiet greeting and continued to stare down at the ground._

 _I was ushered inside, where I stood just inside the door._

 _"Sophie, meet Eric and Andrea Rogers. They're you're new foster parents."_

 _I glanced up at them briefly. "Hi," I whispered._

 _"She's very shy and quiet. You'll probably hardly know she's here," the social worker said with a tittering laugh._

 _"Sophie." My new foster mother squatted down in front of me, putting herself into my view. Her expression was warm and friendly, yet oddly emotional. She looked as if she were almost crying with joy. She reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind my hair. "You're so beautiful. I've wondered for so long what you'd look like. Ever since I..." She cleared her throat. "Ever since_ we _," she glanced back at her husband, "decided to take in a foster child."_

 _I still remained quiet._

 _"Well, hopefully she'll begin to warm up," the social worker said. I couldn't even remember her name. "She's been through a tough time. This is her fifth foster home."_

 _"Fifth?" My new foster dad-Eric-looked down at me with a raised eyebrow, his arms crossed over his chest. "Why, what's wrong with her for all of them to send her back?"_

 _"Nothing!" the social worker said hastily as I blushed shamefully._

 _"She seems like a sweetheart," Andrea said, standing back up._

 _The adults talked for a few moments more, leaving me standing there, still and silent. And then the social worker patted my shoulder, almost awkwardly, and left the house, leaving me alone with my new guardians._

 _Eric turned towards me after he closed the door and looked down at me, standing timidly with my bag still clutched in my hand. "Andrea, show her to her room," he said flatly. And then he walked away. Just like that. What a first impression._

 _"Come on, darling," Andrea said gently. "Let me take your bag."_

 _I reluctantly let her take my bag from my hands, feeling as if the sudden absence of something to hold was like losing a sense of security. And then I followed her up the staircase, looking at my surroundings as I went._

 _The house was nice enough, but it was basic. Plain. There weren't many decorations or personal touches. And it was clearly an old house as well. Not dirty or shabby, but simply old. The wood on the stairs were worn and they creaked as we ascended them. The walls were painted an off white and they were mostly bare. All that hung in the upstairs hallway was a hall mirror._

 _I was led into a small bedroom containing a dresser, a bed, a desk, a nightstand and a closet. The walls of this room were a pale yellow and the two windows were adorned with white billowy curtains. The bedspread was a light purple color and it actually looked like as soft as a cloud._

 _"I tried to make it as homey as possible," Andrea said with a small smile, setting my bag down on the bed. "I hope you like the colors."_

 _I nodded. "Thank you."_

 _"Would you like help unpacking?" she asked hopefully._

 _I shook my head. "I can do it."_

 _"Oh. Alright. Of course." She cleared her throat and I looked up at her to see her pulling her sleeves down over her hands awkwardly. I noticed how tired she looked then, despite her smile. "I'll leave you to get settled and call you when dinner is ready. If you need anything, let me know."_

 _I nodded and she left the room. The stairs creaked as she descended them and then I was left in silence once more in my new, slightly drafty room. I sunk down onto the bed gingerly and stared around it. Despite the colors and the girly bedspread, the room was just as empty of personalization as the rest of the house._

 _I picked up my bag and set it on top of the dresser before curling up on the bed again, pulling the pillow to my chest. I should have been used to starting over in a new foster home by now, but I still felt an odd ache in my chest as I lay there, staring at the pale yellow walls. I wanted nothing more than to go home, but now home was here. And_ here _felt nothing like a home. Here was empty and drafty and creaky and while Andrea was certainly trying, I hardly knew her and she seemed almost...uncomfortable. Unsure, maybe. And for Eric...he didn't seem to like me at all._

 _So much for being a family, I thought, as tears dripped down my cheeks and any last hope that this home might be the one-my forever home-flew right out the window with the drafty air._

* * *

The Burrow was so full of life bursting from every corner that I wasn't sure if I was used to it quite yet.

Handmade blankets adorned every couch, loveseat and armchair, in addition to patterned throw pillows. Pictures crowded the mantle, the top of the bookshelf, and most of the walls. Shows were crowded by the back door and even out on the back steps. A stray jacket would be lying across the back of a kitchen chair on most occasions. A fire would be roaring in the fireplace. It was a home and it felt like one. Naturally, too. Nothing felt forced. It was a home in a take it or leave it sort of way. The Weasleys were comfortable with the way it was and they wouldn't trade it for the world.

And neither would I. I liked it there. I felt like it was everything a lot of my foster homes had missed, each in some way or another.

It was the end of July and I found myself at the Burrow for Harry's birthday party. I'd almost turned down the invitation, but in the end, I'd caved. I'd run into Mrs. Weasley at the Leaky Cauldron a week ago-she'd been headed into Diagon Alley to visit the twins-and she'd asked if I would be joining them. I'd declined, saying that I had plans with Noah, which was true. We'd been spending even more time than usual together ever since the kiss. The kiss that I could _not_ stop thinking about. It replayed over and over in my head and every time it did, I felt butterflies in my stomach. I'd waited so long to finally experience something like that. Something so normal. And I'd loved it.

Anyway, Mrs. Weasley had told me to invite Noah to the Burrow as well. I tried to decline again, not wanting to impose or add another person to her already long usual guest list, but she insisted. So now here I was, sitting in Ginny's bedroom at her window seat, staring out the window and daydreaming.

"Do you have a favorite Quidditch team?" Ginny asked me curiously, snapping me out of my trance.

"Er...no," I said, turning my head to look over at her. Mrs. Weasley was still finishing up dinner downstairs and Ginny, Hermione, Katie and I had congregated up in Ginny's room while everyone else finished up their Quidditch match. It was their fourth one of the night. By the end of the third, Katie and Ginny had called it quits and Hermione and I had gotten tired of watching, so we had moved ourselves upstairs while we waited for dinner to be done.

"What do you mean _no_?" Katie asked.

"I don't know much about it," I said. "I never even watched matches at school."

Katie and Ginny gaped at me.

"People have _got_ to stop reacting that way," I said with a sigh. "Fred and George almost went into cardiac arrest when I told them that."

"It's because you're talking crazy!" Ginny looked at me with wide eyes as she pulled her hair down from her ponytail. She turned to look at her reflection in the mirror as she ran her hand through her hair.

"Don't worry, I've never been big on Quidditch either," Hermione told me. "I hate heights, so Quidditch is the worst idea of fun as far as I'm concerned."

"So why is it such a shock when _I_ say I don't like it?" I asked.

"Because you said you've never even _watched_ a match before," Ginny said. "At least Hermione used to watch."

"I may not have watched any at school," I said, "but I watched the one you all played the last time I was here."

"That's different."

"How?"

"It's...unofficial," Ginny said matter of factly as Hermione snorted.

"Quidditch is Quidditch," I said as Katie and Ginny shared exasperated looks.

"So what did you—or _do you_ , rather—do for fun?" Katie asked me.

"Not much," I shrugged. "Read, I guess."

Hermione beamed excitedly as Katie and Ginny shared another exasperated look.

"You and Hermione are basically long lost sisters," Ginny said.

"I didn't have much to do," I said. "I just had books, really. A few toys here and there when I was younger. But not always. More often than not, the foster family I was with couldn't-or wouldn't-give me much for various reasons."

"What do you mean by _wouldn't_?" Hermione asked gently, leaning forward from where she was leaning back on Ginny's pillows.

I stared from one girl to the next before sighing and looking back down at the bed. Less afraid, I reminded myself. Trust people. _Why hold back_? "The father of the most recent foster home I was in usually just took the money he and his wife were given to be spent on me and spent it on himself instead. That's all he really ever spent money on. He didn't even bother buying much stuff to decorate the house with. It was so...drab. There was no personality anywhere. But he bought himself clothes, shoes, whatever else he wanted...Every so often, he'd go out drinking with his friends and the money probably went towards that as well."

Hermione clucked her tongue. "Honestly, people like that shouldn't even be around children."

"Fred was saying he and George are going to help you find your mother?" Ginny asked. "Your real one, I mean."

"He told you that?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up as I looked at her.

"Well, no," she said, sitting down in her desk chair. "But I overheard him talking to George. Whispering, really. And when they do that, it always makes me want to eavesdrop. But I heard them saying how they were going to help you find out what happened to her."

"I haven't necessarily agreed to anything yet," I said. "I don't know where to start and I don't know if I want to uncover something I might not like. I'm still thinking about it."

"If that's what you want," Ginny said slowly.

"Why does everyone keep talking about what I want?" I muttered.

"Because it matters," Katie said, sounding slightly surprised that I was confused about this.

I swallowed and chewed on my lip. What did I want? Did I want to know for sure what had happened to my mother? Yes. But was I scared to go anywhere near the place I'd run from? Yes. Was I afraid of what I'd find if I went digging? Definitely yes. Even though I _was_ tired of being afraid all the time and I was working on that, it was just so hard _not_ to be. Especially when it involved my past. It wasn't like there was some switch I could just turn off.

"So what about you and Noah?" Ginny asked, wiggling her eyebrows. "Are you dating him?"

"No, I don't think so," I said slowly. "We haven't talked about it. I think he knows I want to go slow. I honestly don't even know what I'd say if he brought it up."

"You like him, though, and you kissed him," Ginny said slowly.

"Mhm. But-it's complicated. He says he can hold his own, but I can't put him in any danger. I can't be responsible for that. And I can't handle losing more people I care about. My mother was enough. I've got enough issues without adding putting people in danger to the list."

"You really think you're in danger?" Hermione asked.

I nodded. "My foster father did not want me running away. I tried twice before I actually got out. And ever since, the plan was to keep moving. I was never supposed to be here this long. I was supposed to save up some money and get out. Move on to the next place. Get another job. Earn some more money. Then leave and repeat the process. But I _like_ it here. And the longer I stay, the harder it is to leave. I like the people I've met and they're pretty _convincing_!" I looked up and smiled. "Between Tom, Martha, Noah, the twins...they keep insisting they're tough and that it's better to surround myself with people so that I can be protected if something does happen. And the thought...it's nice. But then I wonder if I can really ask that of people."

"You don't have to. We kind of just do it all on our own," Ginny said with a grin. "Seriously. Everyone should know better than to mess with the people around here. Did anyone ever tell you that Hermione once set a teacher on _fire_?"

I nearly toppled off the window seat as I looked at Hermione. "What?" I spluttered. " _You_? Set a teacher on _fire_?"

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, tossing a pillow from the bed at her friend. She turned back to me. "I didn't actually set _him_ on fire. Just his cloak." She paused. "Ron and I thought he was jinxing Harry's broom during a Quidditch match."

"You thought?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Turns out he wasn't?" Hermione said, shrugging her shoulders and making a face as if to say _oops_.

"He was actually trying to _save_ Harry," Ginny chimed in. "But he was also a huge, slimy greaseball of a man the rest of the time, so how were they supposed to know? The point is that when a friend is faced with danger, we fight. Always."

I smiled and rested my chin on my knees. "Remind me never to mess with any of you."

Mrs. Weasley called up to us just then, announcing that the food was ready and we all stampeded down the staircase and out the back door to the large tables that had been set up outside. Fleur was already sitting in a chair while Mrs. Weasley piled food on a plate for her, considering Fleur's arms were full holding Victoire.

"How's my favorite niece doing?" Ginny asked enthusiastically as she plopped down beside Fleur and leaned in to kiss Victoire's head.

"She eez your _only_ niece," Fleur said. "And zee only child out of any of your brothers."

"Doesn't matter," Ginny said dismissively. "She's still my favorite niece and I'm her favorite aunt."

"I hate to make thees point again," Fleur said, "but you're her only aunt."

I let out a snort of laughter as I took my seat next to Ginny. She swatted me, but she was smiling.

"I'm her only aunt as of right _now_ ," she said. "But eventually she'll have more, once the rest of my brothers start actually getting _married_."

"There's no rush, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said as the boys appeared around the table, returning from their Quidditch match. Noah gently brushed my shoulder as he passed and took a seat on my other side.

"Hey," he whispered, giving me a wide smile. I blushed light pink and resisted the urge to give Ginny a good pinch when she nudged her elbow into my side and snickered.

"Hi," I said. "How was your last match? Did you win? Score any points?"

"My team won, but personally, I scored a whopping total of zero points." He looked across the table at Fred, who was taking his own seat. "I never knew Fred's Keeper skills were as great as they are. He wouldn't even let me _near_ the goalposts. Well, technically trees that served as goalposts..."

"Of course not," Fred said with a smirk. "That's the whole point. Those goalpost-trees rely on me to protect them. They trust me. They tell me all their secrets." He looked at me and sent a playful wink my way, while I shook my head and sent him a look to shut up. Instead, he laughed and I rolled my eyes.

"Seriously, Fred?" I muttered, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

"It's all in good fun," Noah said, Fred's joke going right over his head-thankfully. "Friendly competition, right Fred?"

"Of course," Fred said with another grin aimed at me.

It turned out that Mrs. Weasley had made all of Harry's favorite foods for dinner, which from the looks of it, was mostly everything. She even proudly brought out an amazing looking homemade cake once everyone was done eating.

"You know, I could really get used to this eating cake every few weeks thing," Noah said. "I need to plan out who I befriend by when their birthdays are." He licked frosting off of his fork and sighed. "This is so good."

"We're having another small gathering for Ginny's birthday in a few weeks," Mrs. Weasley said. "Her birthday falls on a Saturday-the eleventh-but we'll have everyone over on the Sunday. You and Sophie are more than welcome to come."

"Count me in," Noah said.

"By the way, Noah," Mrs. Weasley went on, "how's your mother doing?"

"She's fine," he said. "Nothing too new or exciting going on."

"I stop into the bakery every now and then," Mrs. Weasley went on. "Haven't been in for some time now, though."

"I'll tell her you said hello," Noah said, finishing off his cake with a grin. "I'm actually taking Sophie to meet her soon." He looked over at me and smiled, nudging my side with his elbow and getting me to smile as well.

Later, we gathered in the living room so that Harry could open presents. I found myself sitting on one one of the couch with Noah next to me. Fred and George made a big show of asking Harry to open their gift first. They handed him a large box with a flourish before taking seats, George on the floor in front of the coffee table and Fred on the arm of the couch, right next to me.

"What'd you get him?" he asked, his voice low.

I shrugged. "Candy from Honeydukes," I said. "I wondered if it was too impersonal, but then again, I don't know him all that well. And Ginny did tell me all of his favorite kinds...What did _you_ get him?"

"Just watch," Fred snickered, gesturing to Harry with his chin.

Harry had finished pulling the wrinkled, deep blue wrapping paper from the box and was now tugging on the flaps to open it. The second he did, a cluster of balloons burst from the box, floating up to the ceiling as Harry jumped in surprise.

"Nice," he snorted as everyone else in the room made exclamations of surprise and glee.

"You got him balloons," I commented lightly, leaning closer to Fred. "How thoughtful."

"Is that a hint of sarcasm I detect?" he asked.

"No, none," I whispered back, a hint of a smile lifting up the corners of my mouth. "I was just expecting something a bit more... _wow_."

"A bit more _wow_ ," Fred repeated, nodding slowly. "Gotcha."

I scoffed and looked away. "You know what I mean."

"Just wait," Fred said.

I glanced over at him just as Harry was pulling another smaller box from the larger one.

"Another box," I said. "Incredible, really."

"Patience, patience," Fred sighed.

Harry opened the smaller box to reveal yet another smaller box, which opened to reveal an even smaller box. This went on until the last one remaining was about the size of a ring box.

"Are you two proposing?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. "I'm flattered, but unfortunately I'm not available." He smirked over at Ginny as Fred and George pretended to gag.

"As revolting as your relationship with our sister is," George said as Ginny throw a crumpled up piece of wrapping paper at him, "no, we're not gifting you a ring. Open it."

"If it's another box..." I whispered to Fred, who laughed.

Fortunately, it was not another box. Instead, there were two very small pieces of paper inside, rolled up to look like tiny scrolls.

"We may have put a tiny shrinking charm on them," Fred said. "For effect so that they'd fit..." He took out his wand and leaned forward, waving his wand over the scrolls, which grew by a good few inches. Harry unrolled them and looked down in surprise for a moment before grinning.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," Fred said. "Take Ginny and have a good time. A better time than the last time."

"What is it?" Ginny asked curiously, standing up and going to stand behind Harry, reading over his shoulder. She then snapped her head up to look at the twins as she squealed with joy.

"Two tickets to the Quidditch World Cup?" she asked. "You knew we were talking about going? It's on my birthday!"

The twins nodded. "Harry mentioned it, but he was having trouble scoring tickets," Fred said. "Couldn't get any before they sold out. Funny, Harry, you'd think as the Chosen One and as a well respected Auror, you could pull some strings."

"Shut up, Fred," Harry muttered as Ginny took the tickets from his hand.

"These are excellent seats, too," she said. "Thanks!"

Harry broke into a smile as well. "Yeah, really...thanks."

"Don't mention it," Fred said. I noticed that he and George shared a knowing look with Harry, who mouthed thank you a second time as Fred and George both nodded.

"Not bad," I hissed to Fred as Harry continued opening his other gifts. "But what do you know that no one else does?"

"You picked up on that, eh?" Fred asked, his voice low. "Well, that's alright. Just as long as Ginny didn't." He paused and glanced at his sister to make sure she wasn't listening before looking back at me. "Harry's going to propose to her on her birthday. He mentioned that Ginny had expressed an interest in the World Cup and he wanted to pop the question there, but they couldn't get tickets, like we said. So we pulled a few strings of our own."

"That's exciting," I said, a smile spreading over my face. "Ginny will be thrilled. What kind of strings did you pull?"

"You know our friend Oliver? He's a professional Quidditch player," Fred said. "He's not playing in the World Cup, but he's got some connections."

"The same Oliver that Angelina has a thing with now?" I asked.

"Yep," Fred said, popping the _P_ slightly as he gazed across the room at Harry, even though he didn't look like he was actually seeing anything.

"So you're still friendly with him?"

Fred shrugged. "Yeah, I mean...I can't hate him. Or Ange. I can't sabotage my friendships with them, even though I think I tried to at first. It still hurts, though, and I think parts of them feel bad. Oliver did seem eager to help us get those tickets. And he got them quickly, too. So I guess the pain has its perks."

We sat in silence for a moment before Fred spoke again, his voice low. "So what about you and Noah?" His eyes shifted over to the boy sitting on my left, who was currently leaning forward and admiring Harry's gift from Ron-an impressive looking new jacket with a pocket inside made for holding a wand.

"What about me and Noah?" I asked.

"You two a thing now?"

"No, I don't think so," I said.

"You don't even know?"

"No." I paused. "He kissed me. That's all."

"Ah," Fred answered. "And how was it? Terrible?"

"No," I scoffed.

"Was it your first kiss?" Fred asked slowly.

"What makes you think that?" I asked, bristling. I hated that I felt so defensive and almost ashamed of my inexperience with all things romantic. It _shouldn't_ be something to be conscientious or ashamed about. In the big picture, how important was it how many people I'd kissed or when it happened? Part of me always just felt that I was behind in some way and that I hadn't really got a chance to live a normal life in a lot of ways. I felt that it somehow made me less normal.

"Just a guess," Fred whispered. "You don't have to get all defensive."

"Sorry," I sighed. "It was, for your information. Dating wasn't really in the cards for me back home."

"Why?"

"Fred, are you serious?" I gaped up at him. "You're asking me, the so called woman of few words, why she never dated?"

"What, you think people won't ever like you because you're not talkative?" Fred said. "If no one ever bothered to try hard enough to get to know you, that's _completely_ on them. And if they were worried about talking to someone who the snooty popular girls already decided was unworthy of attention, then they're cowards to boot. Honestly, who the _hell_ cares?"

I stared up at him, slightly open mouthed for a second before I smiled. "Thanks. For at least pretending it had nothing to do with me."

"It didn't-it _doesn't_ ," Fred said. "Noah clearly likes you. Granted, you talk a lot more than you did when you first showed up. And you've got a sense of humor in there, too. But you're still you and people _like_ you."

"But, like you said, I talk a lot more here than I did back home. I've been more...myself, I guess. Showing off the real me. I've let my guard down considerably more than I ever did at school. It's different here. Back at school, I was content to be invisible and let people ignore me. I almost welcomed it on some occasions. So how can you say it has nothing to do with me when I didn't actively do anything to put myself out there?"

"You started off doing that here," Fred said. "And what got you to come out of your shell in the end?"

I thought about that for a second. "I suppose technically it was Rachel forcing me to be social."

Fred nodded. "You just needed a little help and guidance. You needed someone to show they _cared_. That made all the difference, I think. It seems to me that no one back in Salem wanted to put in the effort. Bunch of lazy bastards."

I laughed. "Well," I said with a sigh, "besides that, I don't think my foster dad would have let me date anyone anyway."

Fred didn't seem to have a response to that. Finally: "I'm glad you got away. And I'm glad you came here."

"I'm glad too," I said, smiling up at him. A second later, my smile faded slightly. "I forgot to tell you..." I trailed off and lowered my voice even more. "The night Noah kissed me, he thought he saw something disappear down the alleyway next to Honeydukes. When we went to look, there was nothing there, but it put me on edge again."

Fred swallowed as he thought that over. "It could have been nothing," he said quietly.

"I'm starting to believe that less and less," I said. "Something's going on, Fred, and I can't put it together. I can't tell if it's someone trying to help me or not. I can't see how my foster family would be in possession of the diary or the necklace. Plus, I'd always just thought he'd immediately make himself known and take me back to Salem, or..." I sighed. "I don't know. I didn't think he'd hide. So I don't know what to think. I don't know who would be following me."

"Maybe it's no one."

" _Someone_ dropped the diary in front of me," I said. "And that lady dropping the necklace in my bag? Do you think she could have dropped the diary too?"

"You said you didn't know her," Fred said. "So what business would she have giving you a diary from Salem and a random necklace?"

"Exactly," I said. "And if she did give me the diary, she'd have to know I was from Salem. She'd have to know who I am. But I don't know her."

Fred thought about that for a moment, but before he could say anything, we were interrupted by Harry thanking me for my present. He had opened it and I hadn't even noticed.

"Oh...yeah, of course. You're welcome. Just try not to eat it all in one sitting," I said with a smile.

"But _do_ try to share it with your girlfriend," Ginny said, eyeing the small pile of Chocolate Frogs that were in the bag.

"If he's going to share it with anyone, it's going to be me," Ron interjected.

"And why's that?" Ginny asked.

"The day we became friends on the Hogwarts Express," Ron began, "Harry bought every last item from the trolley when it came by, and he split it with me. So it's symbolic and now an unspoken rule that half of Harry's candy always comes to me."

"Absolutely not," Harry said with a laugh. "You're both mental if you think you're getting any of this. It's mine."

"Rude," Ginny huffed jokingly.

"You already benefitted from Fred and George's gift," Harry argued. "Let me have this one in peace."

"Come on, Harry," Ron argued teasingly, "if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have even known about the famous witch or wizard cards inside the chocolate frog boxes."

"No, of course not," George said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "None of the other people at school would have _ever_ mentioned it to him and we all know Harry's too dense to figure it out on his own."

"He's almost as observant as a brick," Fred added.

"Then again, Ron, you're not much better," George went on.

"Okay, how did I get dragged into this?" Harry asked, holding up his hands as Ron scowled at George's comment. "Besides, it's my birthday. I'm untouchable on my birthday."

"And every other day, for that matter," Fred said, "considering how many times Voldemort tried to kill you and couldn't." He and George laughed as Mrs. Weasley started scolding them for making such a joke.

"It's alright, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said. "They have a point."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it too much, Harry," Fred said. "It's a good thing."

"I was not aware an assortment of candy would be so popular," I muttered. "Now I know what to get all of you on your birthdays. My life just got a whole lot easier."

"Are you implying that you'll be around for all of our birthdays?" Noah asked. "Mine was in February, so you've got a while to wait until it comes around again." He nudged me and I rolled my eyes slightly.

"We'll see," I said quietly.

"We'll see," he repeated. He leaned over and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to my temple. "I'll take it," he whispered.

I couldn't help myself. I broke out into a grin as my stomach began to somersault.


	16. Chapter 16

_April 4th, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts._

 _I do not have much time. Judge Hathorne is knocking on my front door as we speak. I peered out at him through the window and saw the paperwork in his hands. Arrest warrants. John is letting him in now. Resisting him will do more harm than good._

 _Someone has accused us of some kind of witchcraft, though I do not know who or of exactly what right now. But I suspect I will be finding out shortly. I suspect either Ann Putnam or her father, who saw me defending Dorothy the day of her arrest are our accusers. And that most likely means Abigail Williams is in on it as well. She and Ann are hardly seen without the company of one another._

 _I am concealing this diary in my dress with a few charms in the hopes of being able to continue to write in it as long as I can. But if all goes horribly wrong, this could be my last entry._

 _I am sorry to all of my friends and family members who have been or will be arrested and possibly executed over this madness. I am sorry that for someone with so many powers, I was powerless against this epidemic of fear that has taken over our village. I am sorry that I could not do anything to help. I am sorry that other people in this town are so consumed with hatred for people who are different-and those who stick up for them-that they'll accuse them of evil._

 _My apologies will not do any good for those accused and sentenced. But if this diary and my story one day makes it into someone else's hands, I hope that they learn something from it. I hope that they learn how much harm judging someone without evidence can do. I hope they learn how much fear can tear a village of friends apart. I hope they realize how much harm accusations can bring-especially false ones._

 _I also refuse to give out names of any other of my friends who have not been accused. I cannot do that to them. I know the guilt would eat me alive, even more so than the helplessness that I feel now. I am told that giving names will save my own life, but I do not believe that is truthful. Look at Dorothy. She broke down and accused her own mother, but she is still in custody anyway. So either way, I am in danger. There is no hope for me at this point. I am beyond saving myself now. My pregnancy will postpone my sentence for a little while, but it won't save me for good and it won't save the lives of my child, my husband, or my friends. It won't save Sarah or Dorothy._

 _But I will not stop trying. That's why I hope this diary will one day help someone. I may not be able to save myself and I may not be able to save my immediate group of friends and family, but I can postpone the accusation of others for at least a little while by not giving names. And with this diary, I can hopefully prevent another epidemic like this one from happening again._

 _And to anyone else_ _who, like me, has felt so powerless when the people they love are in danger, or to anyone else who feels guilt for something they may not have been able to control...I have one last message. Forgive yourself. You don't have to bear such a burden. Some things are just...out of our control. But don't stop trying. Continue to be kind. Continue to be brave. Offer help to those who need it. Stand up for the people you love. But also remember to be kind to yourself when you can. Try to move on. Try to forgive yourself. It might just be the hardest thing you will ever do-trust me, I know. I am still working on it myself. But John has been reminding me that we have been nothing but kind to our friends and neighbors. We have been supportive and defended them as best we could. We were friends to Sarah and Dorothy when no one else would be. We are not responsible for the horrible actions of other people. We have done our best._

 _In any case, what is important is that we_ _lead our lives with kindness towards our friends, family, and neighbors. As I said, there are some things that are beyond our control, but we mustn't let that affect how we continue to treat people._ _Allow that to ease your conscience as much as possible. Allow yourself forgiveness. Allow yourself to heal, but never forget the ones you lost._

 _There are footsteps out in the kitchen, coming closer to my room. My heart is pounding. I am so afraid._

 _Pray for me._

* * *

The entry was hastily written-so much so that I could barely read it. I also seemed to think that the page was a bit more crumpled than the rest, but I didn't know if that was just me or not, imagining Elizabeth's haste as she concealed the diary away before she was taken into custody.

My own hand was shaking as I held the diary in my lap. Fred had actually read this entry first. He'd asked me if he could read a few ahead the last time I'd let him borrow it and I'd said yes. And then he'd brought it over this morning-a few hours before Ginny's birthday party at the Burrow-and told me I might want to catch up and that he'd wait while I did.

Now, he sat backwards in my desk chair, his arms resting across its back, staring at me solemly.

"Even I got too afraid to flip the page and see if anything else was written," he said.

"Want to do it together?" I asked. "We don't have to read it, just flip the page to know if there's more."

Fred stood up and came to sit beside me on the bed. So close that our legs and arms were touching. "Together," he said.

I nodded and looked back down at the diary, taking in a deep breath and holding it. I counted to three in my head and flipped it. And then I let out a sigh of relief. There was another entry.

I smiled and looked up st Fred, who had a smile on his face as well.

"Would you look at that," he said. "She's alright at least for a little longer. Look at the date of the next entry. It's a month later." He paused and reached out to trace his finger along the ink. "The second of May, actually."

"That was the day Percy—"

"Yeah," Fred whispered, letting out a sigh and turning away from the diary as I slowly closed it.

"You okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "This past May marked one year," he said. "It was also the day Bill and Fleur had their baby and _I_ had a complete meltdown."

"Oh," I said.

Fred rolled his eyes. " _Oh_ ," he laughed. "Your go to word when you don't know what to say, huh?"

I shrugged and blushed furiously. "I guess. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Fred sighed. "I know it's a lot." He shrugged. "Anyway, everyone kept saying how a year after someone special had left us, another special person entered our lives. _I_ thought it sounded like bullshit. And then they went and named her Victoire. Victory? Seriously? Harry defeated Voldemort, yeah, but it didn't feel like a victory when we'd lost so many people. At least...not a complete victory. It was still somewhat of a loss. And I was already dealing with it being one year since Percy died. I wasn't in a mood to celebrate anything. I didn't even show up at the hospital. Instead, I forced George to go and leave me alone against his better judgement, then I got wasted in the flat by myself. And _then_ showed up at the Leaky Cauldron trying to buy more alcohol. Tom gave me a stern talking to that I did _not_ even comprehend and then made me go upstairs and sleep it off in one of the guest rooms. But first, I vomited all over the stairway."

"Oh my gosh, that was _you_ ," I said. When Fred looked at me in surprise, I went on. "I'd been there for about three weeks. I was working that night and Tom came back into the kitchen looking frustrated over something. All he said was that there was a drunk guest sleeping off the alcohol in room twelve and not to disturb him. On his way up the back staircase that leads here to our flat, he said there was vomit on the front stairway that needed to be cleaned up. And then everyone else did that stupid thing where they all said _not me_ at the same time. Except for me. I didn't know it was a thing."

Fred let out a noise that was almost a half groan, half laugh as he buried his head in his hands. "You cleaned up my vomit."

I actually found myself letting out a laugh as well. "I did." I paused as I thought back to that night. "Did you get into an argument with someone the next morning, too? Now that I think about it, I remember we could all hear lots of yelling from one of the guest rooms the next morning."

Fred snorted and lay back on my bed, crossing his arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling. "It was Bill who came to get me the next day. He was upset, and rightly so, that I couldn't drag my sorry ass to the hospital and at least pretend to be happy. He lost his head and so did I and we probably would've ended up in a fist fight if Tom hadn't come to break it up. It was the angriest Bill had gotten with me since the battle about how I was behaving. Like I said, I think most of my family was afraid. Afraid of me losing it in front of them, afraid of me falling apart, afraid of upsetting me. But they were all disappointed in what was happening. They just didn't know how to handle it. They thought by keeping calm and not upsetting me and not mentioning Percy, they were helping. But at the same time, they were always watching. Making sure I didn't do anything stupid. Like I've said before, it felt like they weren't letting me move on by doing that." He paused. "I think Bill yelling at me helped. It was like maybe the rest of my family was slowly coming around and not being so afraid anymore."

"It's horrible being afraid all the time," I said. "It's something I'm also working on being better at."

"Good," Fred said, looking at me with a smile.

I didn't say anything in response to that, but Fred didn't seem to mind. He rolled onto his side and traced a finger along the spine of the diary. "Intense entry, though, huh?" he asked.

I nodded. "Elizabeth gives good advice, though." I hesitated. "It's advice I think you should try to follow." I glanced at him shyly.

"Me?" Fred asked, raising an eyebrow, propping himself up on an elbow.

I nodded. "She literally said for anyone who is feeling guilt over something they may not have been able to control to forgive themselves. She said to give yourself time to heal, but never forget the ones you lost. It's a bit eerie, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it is," Fred whispered, staring down at my comforter as he picked at a loose thread on it.

"You know..." I said slowly, turning sideways so that I was sitting facing him. "The day I ran away from my foster home, my foster mother actually said something to me that was similar. She told me that sometimes things happen to us that we can't control or have no say in, but to continue being kind and brave regardless and to always remember to forgive yourself. Do you think that's odd?"

Fred frowned at me in thought. "No, it has to just be a coincidence, don't you think? There's no way she could have had that diary."

"If Elizabeth had it on her at the time it could've gotten passed down to anyone."

"So then your foster mother must have been the one to bring it to you here," Fred said.

"And that's what doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't she show herself?" I asked. "Unless she's afraid of being caught. Or afraid of Eric finding us again. It also must mean she would have gotten away from him...Or if he's here. But again, I can't see him hiding for this long. And then there's that mystery woman. I have no idea who she is and I can't figure out how she fits into all of this. And the time at the ice cream parlor when I saw a woman watching me. Was that her or someone else? And what did Noah see in the alleyway in Hogsmeade? Or was it all nothing and I'm just...insane?"

Fred sat up and turned himself sideways to face me, his expression serious. "Soph," he began. "I know this is hard for you...but I think that if we're going to figure this out, you're going to have to tell me about your foster home. From start to finish. I can't fully help you if you don't tell me."

"Fred..." I said slowly. "I don't-"

"Sophie...please," he said quietly.

I swallowed and continued to stare down at the bedspread. "I told you it was my fifth foster home. I was already pretty dejected and let down from always having to move around from one foster home to another. I had started to lose all hope that I'd find a real family that actually could keep me and _wanted_ to keep me. There was a little part of me that hoped that home would be the last. That it would be my forever home. I was there the longest, but it wasn't a home and we weren't a family."

"You said your foster father used the money they got on himself?" Fred asked.

I nodded. "Their house was comfortable. It wasn't a dump or anything. But it was an old house, like a lot of the houses in Salem were, and it was drab. There were hardly any decorations, no pictures, no personality. My foster mother-Andrea-she tried, though. She had decorated my room a bit for me and tried to make it homey, but still...She seemed like she wanted me and that she liked me, but she also seemed tired. Quiet. Afraid. Just like me."

"And your foster dad? What did you say his name was?" Fred asked.

"Eric." I let out a bitter laugh. "I remember the day I got dropped off there, the social worker told them it was my fifth foster home and he asked what was wrong with me to make the other families not want me."

"He didn't," Fred whispered.

"He did. And he acted so...flat towards me. As if he didn't care or didn't really want me there. And then, like I said he took the money that was supposed to be spent on me and spent it on stuff for himself. He'd always make me feel like a burden for being there. All of my stuff was bought second hand at thrift stores. Andrea and I did all the cooking and cleaning and any other household chores. I had to do it without magic because I was young, but Andrea would always do it the Muggle way too. He made her. He was a Muggle, actually. Hated magic. You know, I don't even think he would have sent me to school unless it wasn't part of the deal. He had to or else I'd get taken away and thrown back into the system. I thought school was going to be great, but you already know it wasn't."

"How did he end up marrying Andrea if he hated magic?" Fred asked.

I shrugged. "Andrea told me their relationship was complicated. She never told me the details. She never wanted to talk about it. She didn't want to be with him, but she wouldn't leave him either. Fear, I guess, which is understandable. He was a piece of work. For someone who seemed to hate us so much, he certainly didn't want to let us out of his sight." I paused. "Sometimes, not always-thankfully-he'd go out drinking with his friends and those were some of the times he was the meanest. Or if he was sober and in a bad mood and we did something to set him off."

"Such as?"

I shrugged. "Mostly stupid stuff. Once, I broke a plate and he lost his mind. Called me all sorts of names and made me feel like some clumsy fool who couldn't even do something as simple as hold a plate."

"Did he ever...hit you?" Fred asked.

I shrugged. "Not regularly. But he got rough a few times with me, yeah. Shoving, pushing, throwing things. Stuff like that." I didn't mention the day I'd escaped and he'd given me the two scars on my back. That had been by far the worst and I couldn't bear telling Fred about that yet. It was still too private and painful to talk about. I'd been sure I was going to die that day and the scars were an ugly reminder of what I'd left behind and what was still out there. "As you've already figured out," I finally went on, "it's why I still flinch every time someone grabs me or makes a sudden movement towards me."

"I don't know what to say," Fred murmured.

I shrugged. "I think he was worse to my foster mother. They'd get into nasty fights. I'd see some bruises on her sometimes even though she tried to hide them. And she always seemed so exhausted, like I said. In every sense of the word." I inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Anyway, when I was seventeen and done with school, I tried to run away. I was going to get a job-something photography related. But I also tried to get my foster mother out with me. I didn't want to leave her. Or else I would've probably ran right from the train station. But I went back to the house to try and get her to come with me. And we never made it out. Eric caught us. He and Andrea got into a massive fight and he locked me in my room for a week. And after that, he kept a closer eye on me. Kept me busy in the house with every chore imaginable. My duties around the house increased from what they were before. It felt like I was his servant. Anyway, when I was eighteen, I'd aged out of the system, so he had me get a job at a local cafe. He'd take me there and hang around for a bit to make sure I didn't run away again. Then he'd come back later and take me home."

"Why didn't you try to run away in between?" Fred asked. "You still wanted to get your foster mother out?"

I nodded. "That and the fact that I was pretty defeated at that point. Defeated and afraid. I knew I had to have some kind of strategy. If I just left work, the cafe owner would tell Eric I'd left."

"Couldn't you Apparate and be long gone by the time he found out?"

"He kept my wand," I said.

"While you were working?"

"No, permanently. He held on to mine and Andrea's wands. Another reason why I didn't just run. I needed my wand. I'd never get anywhere fast enough on foot. And I had no money for Muggle transportation. I tried to save away as much as I could, but I had to do it in little bits considering he took most of the money I made and kept it. So I had to put away change. Quarters, dimes, nickels, pennies-it was all Muggle money, so it would only be good for Muggle stuff in the end. I could get transportation, clothes, food, that kind of thing. It wouldn't have done anything if I tried to go to some all-magical place. It would have been useless once I came here."

"So...what happened? How'd you end up getting away?"

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Fred, I really don't like talking about it."

"I think you should," he said. "I think I need to know."

"I've told you enough," I said quietly, but firmly.

"Okay," Fred said after a pause. "So you're living your life in fear that your foster father will track you down because he's some possessive freak, right?"

I nodded. "Essentially."

There was another pause before Fred sat up and looked at me, biting his lip slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I have to tell you something."

"What?" I asked, instantly feeling myself stiffen with nerves. I didn't like where this was going. Mentally, I started running through all the bad news Fred could possibly have to tell me right now. I had to stop doing that-dreading the worst-but it was so hard not to.

"George and I-we might have tried to do some research on your birth mother."

" _What_?" I repeated, but this time it came out in a tone of shock. Of all the things I'd been expecting Fred to say, it had not been that. I knew he was curious and I knew he was determined and I knew he wanted to help. But I hadn't expected him to actually go and take matters like that into his own hands. I hadn't expected him to actively try to look for my mother like that. Something had always stopped me in the past. Fear, of course. And just defeat. I always just felt that it wasn't worth it to look for her. It wouldn't change things. But the funny thing was that now that Fred was telling me this, I found that I wasn't all that angry at him. I was shocked and surprised and afraid, but also curious as to what he'd found out.

"I know you're probably mad," Fred said, holding up a hand, "but hear me out. I-"

"I'm not," I said quietly, my voice filled with just as much surprise as Fred most likely felt. I could see it written all over the expression that he sent me after I spoke.

"You're not?" he asked. "You're not mad?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I mean, maybe I felt a little upset at first, but it passed. I'm surprised that you would do something like that, but then again, maybe I shouldn't be. But interestingly enough, I'm _curious_."

"Well, I could have predicted that," Fred scoffed with a smile. "How could you not be curious? I would be."

"Shut up," I whispered. "What'd you find? Anything?" I looked up at him and chewed on the corner of my lip as my stomach knotted.

"Not much, but we didn't find any death records. We checked. Thoroughly."

"How?" I asked.

"Believe it or not, we had to enlist _Ron's_ help," Fred said, looking horrified at the mere thought. "I never thought I'd have to say those words."

"Get to the point, Fred," I said with a quiet laugh.

"Now who's anxious for this information, hm?" he teased. "Before, you almost wanted nothing to do with it." He rolled his eyes before continuing. "Anyway, Ron brought us into the Ministry and he talked to Harry and then they used their connections to get in contact with the American Ministry."

"MACUSA?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "They can do that? Just contact them and get answers?"

"Well...no," Fred said. "They had to ask Kingsley for help too."

"Kingsley. Your Minister of Magic," I repeated. "Merlin, Fred, did you get the whole world involved in this?"

"We kept it as secret as possible," Fred said. "All we told anyone was the basic truth. That we're trying to reunite you with your mother and need to know if she's alive, first and foremost. Soph, no one batted an eye. None of this is suspicious. At least, none of what George and I told them." He paused. "Although, we may have added our own personal touch to the story."

I groaned. "Which was what? Fireworks? Stinkbombs?"

Fred chuckled. "Good guesses, but no. The correct answer would be dramatics."

"Dramatics?" I asked. "What kind of dramatics? Again, I could guess fireworks and stink bombs."

"We just kind of...made it into a really sad story," Fred said. "You know, to tug at people's heartstrings a bit. We figured we had a better shot of getting what we wanted that way."

"Fred!" I exclaimed. "Are you kidding? You know that's the last thing I want or need! I don't _want_ to be a sob story. You should know that better than anyone."

Fred flinched a little, but recovered quickly. "I know, but if it helps us get what we want-"

"We?" I scoffed. "Or you?"

"You," he amended. "You keep trying to act like this isn't what you want, but I can see you want to know. If you didn't, you wouldn't be asking me all these questions about what I found and how I did it."

I sighed. "I suppose you're right. But somehow, oddly, I get the sense that you almost want this just as much."

Fred shrugged. "I want you to be happy. I want you to have closure." He looked at me seriously. "I do know how important that is. You were right when you said I don't have any unanswered questions about Percy. I did know where we stood. And while that hasn't necessarily made things better for me, it would have been worse if I'd never known what happened to him or if I hadn't known how he really felt. If he'd died before he got the chance to come back, or before he'd gotten the chance to tell us..." He trailed off and shook his head. "It may have been one thing I took for granted. I want you to have that same, well, I want to say peace of mind, even though it doesn't always feel that way. Merlin knows my mind is not peaceful all the time..." He cleared his throat. "Even if the answers you get aren't what you want to hear, I still want you to have them so you're not wondering. I think that's worse."

I nodded. "Thanks." I looked up at the ceiling in thought. "So you didn't find anything saying she'd died?"

"No. Obviously the Ministry over in America keeps death records, just like we do here. And there's nothing."

"That doesn't necessarily mean she hasn't died. It just means that if she did, she hasn't been found or identified," I said.

"Right," Fred said. "There was an article printed in the Salem papers reporting her missing. I'm assuming that was the day she dropped you off at the museum and left. The article said there was an investigation going on. But from what Kingsley could find out, your mother was never found. Alive or dead."

"Okay. Anything else?"

Fred shook his head. "Kingsley reported back that the case had been closed for years and that she was just assumed dead. But no body was ever found or identified."

I let out a bitter laugh. "This doesn't really move us forward, Fred," I said. "I know you tried, but-"

"We at least know that if anything happened to her, it's not government knowledge. So if she's alive, she's doing a really good job of hiding. All these years later. And if she's dead, then she must have been somewhere really secluded for nobody to _ever_ stumble upon her. If she died, it must have been really well hidden."

"Which means what?" I asked.

"Well," Fred said slowly. "It doesn't appear to me that she left you for the fun of it."

"It doesn't?" I asked, looking up at him curiously. I wondered how he'd managed to work that one out.

"If she left you for the fun of it, don't you think she would've been spotted somewhere? She wouldn't have just _gone missing_ never to turn up again. If she got lazy with her kid and just didn't care anymore, I don't think she'd care about being spotted. She'd just be another lady who abandoned her kid. And besides, you said you two were so close. It's never quite added up to me. How you two could go from being so close, making plans to travel, going ice skating together, to her just leaving you because she felt like it? Tell me, how was she acting on the day she left you?"

I thought back to that day, as hard as I could. While the memory was still pretty vivid in my mind, much of it had also faded quite a bit. The tinier details had, anyway. I tried to picture how my mother had acted as she woke me up, as she brought me to the museum, as she left me there, promising to come back, and then not following through. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to picture her face. It swam into view, her blue eyes staring at me right before she left the museum. Ice blue eyes, round and full of...fear. Her voice was breathless and shaky when she told me I'd be safe there and that she'd come back.

"She was urgent," I said. "Panicked. She looked...afraid."

Fred didn't say anything and I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. "There's more to this story than you've believed, I think," he whispered.

"Like what?" I asked. "What could have possibly happened to-what, give her _no choice_ but to leave me? That's what you're implying happened?"

"More or less," Fred shrugged. "Either that or she at least _felt_ as if she had no choice. And as for why, that's what I intend on finding out. With your permission of course."

I hesitated as I chewed on my lip. If it turned out my mother was alive, how would that make me feel? Would I want to see her? Talk to her? Would I want to find her and ask her why she left? Would finding all these answers make me feel worse or better? I thought all the old pain of her leaving had been healed, but had it really just been covered up on the surface? After all, a mess will always be a mess unless you clean it. You can sweep it into a corner and throw a blanket over it to hide it-out of sight, out of mind. But in reality, it's still a mess. It just became a mess with a sheet over it. And it would always be that way, lurking in the back of your mind, until you faced it.

And if I was being honest with myself, I did want to know why. If my mother was alive, I wanted to hear all of it from her directly. I wanted to hear her tell me the truth.

"Okay," I finally said with a sigh, looking up at Fred. "I'm in. But next time you decide to do a little digging...tell me. Agreed?"

"Definitely," Fred said with a nod.

"So...how did last night go?" I finally asked.

"Last night?" Fred asked, looking at me in confusion.

"With Ginny and Harry? It was the World Cup yesterday, wasn't it? And Harry proposed?" I asked, standing up and crossing the room to my desk where I slipped the diary into a drawer, burying it under some of the other stuff that was inside.

"Oh, right!" Fred exclaimed.

"You forgot?" I commented casually, looking at Fred in surprise. "Weren't you the one who got them those tickets?"

"Well...yes, but I also try to push the thought of my little sister getting married out of my head as much as possible." He smirked. "That, plus your very abrupt change of subject..." He trailed off and shrugged, still smirking. "Anyway, from what George and I have heard, it went well. I haven't spoken to Ginny yet, but I'm sure she's ecstatic. I have no doubt she said yes, either."

"Neither do I," I said with a smile, leaning against my desk.

"I guess we'll find out all the details soon," Fred said. "We have to be at the Burrow in an hour for her birthday party." He gazed at the drawer where I'd slipped the diary. "I just wanted to give you a chance to catch up."

"Thanks," I whispered.

Fred was quiet for another few seconds, still gazing at my desk drawer. Finally, he cleared his throat and stood up. "Ready?" he asked brightly, flashing me a smile.

I nodded and gave him a small smile in return. "Ready."

* * *

Ginny's birthday party at the Burrow was even louder and more exuberant than any other gathering had been so far. Not only were we celebrating her eighteenth birthday, but we were also celebrating her engagement.

I found I actually didn't even mind the chaos either. I didn't know if I was simply getting used to it or if it was because everyone's attention and excitement was aimed at Ginny and Harry, but it didn't really matter. I could just sit back and watch, which was fine with me.

Everything seemed to go smoothly until later that night after Ginny had opened presents. We were all sitting in the living room, much like we had been for Harry's birthday. The topic of conversation had switched back to the engagement and the now upcoming wedding for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

"I wish Percy were here," Mrs. Weasley finally sighed.

Just like when his name was brought up the first time I was here, everyone seemed to freeze and hold their breath for a split second, making it seem like the world had stopped turning briefly before continuing again. And then everyone seemed to glance at Fred, either quickly or out of the corner of their eyes as if they wanted to make sure he was okay, but didn't want him to know they were looking.

Beside me, he heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm fine," he said. "You don't have to worry. I'm not going to run off and jump in the pond again. I'm not going to freak out and start throwing things. I'm not going to down every last bottle of alcohol we have. You can all keep you pants on and stop _staring_."

Everyone was quiet for a moment as if they didn't know what to say.

"We just...know you don't like thinking about him," Bill said gently.

"It's not that I don't like thinking about him," Fred said. "No, what I don't like is thinking about the fact that he's dead and I didn't do anything to stop it. I _don't like_ everyone going easy on me. I don't like being pitied because I lost a brother. I don't like being pitied because not only did I lose a brother, but I was there when he died."

"No one pities you, Fred," Mrs. Weasley whispered.

"It feels like it," he mumbled.

"I only told everyone to go easy on you because you were already acting so..."

"Unstable?" Fred scoffed.

"No...Irrationally," Mrs. Weasley shrugged. "I was afraid that if someone did something to make you angry, it would be the final straw and you'd really lose it and do something stupid and I wouldn't be able to stop you and I'd lose another son." Her voice cracked on the last word and the room was eerily silent. Mostly everyone was staring awkwardly at their hands or the ground, but I saw Fred look up to meet his mother's eyes in surprise.

"Mum-" he croaked.

"How do you think _I_ feel?" she went on. "I'm your mother-I'm _Percy's_ mother. How do you think I felt knowing I failed to protect him?"

"Mum, you couldn't have-there was no way-you couldn't keep track of everyone at once," Fred murmured. "You didn't fail at anything."

"And neither did you," she said. "You were so hurt...You couldn't move or walk...There was nothing you could have done. And yet you suffered so horribly and I've been afraid every single day since."

"I'm sorry," Fred whispered. "I didn't know." He stood up and went to kneel by her chair, gently putting a hand over hers. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise. Honestly, Mum, when have you ever known me to follow Percy's lead in _anything_?"

That got a chuckle out of everyone and the awkward tension started to dissipate. Mrs. Weasley let out a watery laugh herself and wiped her eyes before patting Fred's hand. "I'm glad you're able to talk about him a little more now...and so lightly."

Fred glanced back at me for a moment, a small smile appearing on his face. "Me too," he said quietly.

* * *

The following Thursday night, I found myself at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, hanging out in the shop and waiting for closing time. My shift at the Leaky Cauldron that day had ended at four and I'd gone for a walk down the alley-a walk that ended at the joke shop. I'd decided to go in, then I'd gotten asked to stay for dinner afterwards, and I'd found myself agreeing.

"So, what is for dinner anyway?" I asked Fred as I leaned up against the shelf he was restocking. The box on the floor in front of him read _Trick Wands-Chicken_ and he was pulling them out by the handful before setting them up on the shelf. "And what other types of trick wands do you have besides ones that turn into rubber chickens?" I gestured to the box with my chin.

"We have ones that turn into fish, worms, snakes, regular old tree twigs, and George and I are working on a vegetable variety next. Carrots and cucumbers to start off with."

"Seriously?" I snorted.

"Seriously," Fred answered with a wink. "And to answer your question about dinner, we're ordering out tonight. How do you feel about the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Oh, I don't know," I sighed. "I've heard it's rubbish. And the staff there..." I let a puff of air out of my mouth and shook my head. "I've heard they're real pieces of work."

"Mm," Fred said, looking at me and nodding seriously. "Especially that one blue-eyed American girl. I hear she does a lousy job cleaning up those tables. And what was it my gang of Slytherin pals said? She's unfriendly and...oh, yes-slow."

I grabbed a trick wand from the box and tossed it at him. He tried to duck, but it still bounced off his shoulder, turning into a rubber chicken with a very realistic squawking sound.

"Watch it," he said with a laugh.

I was giggling as well, but it suddenly died in my throat as I looked up and made eye contact with a woman across the room. The woman from the shop in Hogsmeade. The woman who'd slipped me the necklace.

"Fred," I breathed, standing up straighter, my eyes still locked on the woman's.

"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"She's here."

"Who's here?" He turned and began looking around the shop, craning his neck to see who I was looking at.

"The woman who gave me that necklace."

" _Where_?" Fred asked. Suddenly, he was a hundred times more interested in looking around the shop. I thought his head was going to pop right off his neck from the way he was stretching it. At the very least, he was certainly going to pull a muscle.

"Over by the display of those shoes that silence the wearer's footsteps," shooting him an anxious look. The last thing I wanted was for the mystery woman to notice him gawking at her.

"Ah, yes, the Sneaky Sneakers," Fred said proudly. He winced as I nudged him sharply and then craned his neck again to look over by the display. "Are you talking about the lady who is blatantly staring at you?"

"Mhm," I said. "Although, that's pretty hysterical coming from the guy who is blatantly staring _back_ at her."

Fred didn't answer me. Instead, he gazed at the woman for a moment before sending me a devious look and took off across the room.

"Fred, what are you doing?" I hissed, jogging to keep up with his quick pace and long strides.

"Going to talk to her and ask what her issue is," Fred answered. "If we want some answers, we have to work for them, you know. We can't just keep waiting for her to show up and actually say something to you."

"But-hang on-" I protested. Everything was going so fast. I had no idea what Fred was planning on saying to this woman. I'd only just spotted her and would have much rather spent some time actually formulating what I'd say.

"Sophie," Fred said, "sometimes you have to just act and not think. Sometimes the best things happen without being planned."

"Fred," I started to protest again, but by now we were closing in on the mystery lady, who suddenly turned on her heel and began hurrying away.

"Damnit," Fred muttered, speeding up himself and trying to catch up to her. I followed him, practically at a full blown panic by now. We weaved in and out of displays, shelves and customers and I began to think we'd actually lose the woman in the crowd. And suddenly, I felt myself feeling disappointed at the thought.

But finally, Fred managed to catch up to the woman just as she was nearing the door. A large group of teenagers had come in, slowing the woman down in her attempt to leave.

Fred reached out and gently touched her arm. "Excuse me," he said. The woman turned to look up at him just as I reached them myself, her light blue eyes staring into his own.

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" she asked as Fred faltered, suddenly seeming unsure of what to say now that he had her attention. I smiled smugly from behind him.

"The best things happen without being planned, huh?" I asked.

Fred nudged me and fought back a smirk, but he kept his eyes on the mystery woman. He cleared his throat. "I just noticed you were leaving in quite a hurry and that you're also very empty handed."

The woman glanced at me for a split second before turning back to Fred and smiling slightly. "Yes, I suppose so," she said.

"There wasn't a problem, was there?" Fred asked. "It's just that as owner of this shop, it's my duty to make sure customers are satisfied with their visit. Customer satisfaction is very important to my brother and I." He beamed charismatically.

"Yes, I'd expect it would be," the woman said with a raised eyebrow. "Seeing as without customers, you wouldn't have a business to run."

"Right," Fred said, glancing at me and raising his eyebrows as I simply shrugged. "But that doesn't mean my concern isn't genuine."

"Of course not," the woman said distractedly, looking over her shoulder at the door. "Not what I was implying at all. Listen, I appreciate the concern, but I've really got to get going. I'm just in a rush." She glanced at the door again.

"Wait," Fred, reaching out to stop her. "The thing is...my friend Sophie here needs to ask you something."

"Fred-what-no!" I tried to shuffle behind him, but he grabbed my arm and dragged me forward.

"Ask her!" he hissed as I continued to try and squirm out of his grip.

"Let me go," I said, my voice quiet, but also steady. Immediately, Fred released my arm.

"Sorry," he said. He tilted his head towards the woman. "Go on," he said gently.

I shot him a look before turning back towards the woman, who was looking at us quizzically. "I saw you in a shop in Hogsmeade," I began. "About two months ago now, actually. You talked to me about a necklace...and then I went home to find that necklace in my bag. I tried to return it to the shop, but they said it didn't belong to them. So I'm just wondering...well, I'm wondering a lot actually."

The woman smiled slightly and gazed at me with the oddest mix of expressions on her face. She was looking at me thoughtfully and almost fondly and with a little bit of sadness. "I'm sure you are, dear," she whispered.

"Well?" Fred asked, looking at her expectantly. "Can't you give her any answers? Like why you'd slip her a necklace? Where it came from in the first place? Why you're here now, staring at her from across the shop?"

"Did you keep the necklace?" the woman asked, looking at me and ignoring Fred's questions.

I nodded. "Only after Fred's brother tested it for curses and jinxes."

"Thoroughly," Fred added, staring the woman up and down with a scrutinizing look.

She looked surprised. "Really. And what'd he find?"

"Nothing," Fred said. "Which means you weren't trying to curse her." Fred tilted his head towards me. "At least not with the necklace. So what's the deal?"

"Interesting," the woman said thoughtfully.

"Interesting?" Fred repeated. "That it came back curse free? Was it not supposed to?"

The woman ignored him again and looked at me again. "Have you worn it yet?"

"No," I said.

"Ah." She stared at me, nodding slowly. She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but at the same time, was afraid to open her mouth. "I really should get going," she finally said.

"Hold on, you haven't given us _any_ answers!" Fred exclaimed.

"Everything will make sense in time," she said with a tiny smile, backing towards the door. "I can't say much, but..." She trailed off and stared at me again, that odd, thoughtful look on her face again. "I'm hoping you'll understand everything on your own very soon." She nodded once and looked quickly between me and Fred before dashing out the door.

"What in the name of Merlin's socks was that all about?" Fred asked, gaping after her.

I, however, barely heard him. Something had caught my eye as the woman had dashed away from us. Something fluttering towards the ground. I bent down and picked up the worn, rectangular shaped paper. It had landed on the wooden floor facedown and as I stood back up, examining it, I could see that it had been ripped into pieces and taped back together. On top of that, it was worn, smudged, old and wrinkled. Frowning, I flipped it over and felt my skin prickle, my stomach drop and my blood nearly run cold.

"What's that?" Fred asked, peering over my shoulder. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Is that a postcard? Of an ice rink?"

I felt the blood draining from my face and I was sure I was going to faint. I wasn't even aware that I'd suddenly become unsteady on my feet until I felt one of Fred's hands on my arm and the other around my waist.

"Woah, what's going on? You okay?"

"No," I muttered. "I have to get out of here, Fred." It felt like the shop was suddenly closing in on me, despite the high ceilings and how spacious the room was. The noise, the colors, everything was suddenly too much. I would have started to run, if I felt like I could without falling.

"Come on," Fred murmured. He gently led me into the back workroom and once we were out of sight from the storefront, he swiftly put one arm at my back and the other behind my knees, sweeping me into his arms and carrying me up the stairs to the flat. Wordlessly, he set me down on the couch and waved his wand a few times. Seconds later, a glass of water flew in from the kitchen. He caught it and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I whispered, gratefully taking a sip. I closed my eyes and rested the side of my head against the back of the couch and relaxing the rest of my body into the armrest.

"What the hell happened down there?" Fred asked. His voice was quiet, but concerned.

"That woman," I said. "She dropped this." I held out the postcard to him.

"Right. The postcard," he said, taking it from me and studying it. He finally looked back up at me. "Is this significant to you?"

I nodded. "Remember the night you gave me the necklace back and I ran after you and came here, to the flat? Remember what I told you about my first foster home and how they couldn't afford ice skates?"

Fred looked at me thoughtfully for a moment before his eyes lit up with a spark of understanding. "You said they gave you a postcard of an ice rink instead."

I nodded again. "I kept it until shortly after I arrived at my most recent foster home, but by then I was so worn down and angry and _tired_ of not being wanted that I ripped that postcard up into a bunch of little pieces." I leaned forward and reached out to where Fred's hand, still holding the postcard, rested on his knee. I slowly traced the lines of where the postcard had once been ripped. "I ripped it up and I threw it away."

"But the postcard-the photo on it-" Fred said. "It was this one? This exact photo? This exact ice rink?"

"Mm. It's the one in New York City. The one I've always wanted to go to. That image is etched in my memory at this point, whether I want it to be or not."

"But for this postcard to be the same one-for it to be here now-taped together. For that woman to have it. That's-that's impossible."

"Clearly not," I said. I furiously leaned back into the arm of the couch and let out a frustrated sigh. "You probably think I'm insane."

Fred was quiet for a moment. "No," he finally said quietly, looking down at the postcard. "I don't. I believe you. And I think there's something strange about that woman for sure-something I want to help you figure out. The thing is, I don't think she wants to hurt you, so I don't think you need to be afraid."

I swallowed and used my index finger to wipe away some of the condensation from my water glass. "Then why _am_ I afraid, Fred?" I asked. "And when is it going to just... _stop_? When is _everything_ going to just stop and _make sense_?"

Fred let out a long sigh and shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I'm still trying to figure that out myself. But if I find out, I'll give you a shout, yeah?"

The corner of my mouth twitched into a small smile as I peered up at him. "Please do. I'd like that."

Fred let out a breath of laughter and broke into a smile as he held out his hand. "It's a deal." He met my eyes and smiled wider. "It's customary to shake it. See, there are many forms of handshakes. I've already tried to offer you a handshake in both a greeting and an offer to help you up from the floor. Funny-you seemed to just stare at me wordlessly in those situations as well, so I'm really beginning to think Americans aren't familiar with any form of handshake."

"No, usually we just replace handshakes in all those scenarios with some sort of obscene gesture," I said, smiling a bit wider.

Fred laughed. "And yet, I haven't seen or heard anything obscene come from you once."

"We're not all bad," I said quietly. "For the record, I prefer handshakes." I extended my hand out to him. Fred stared at it for a moment before taking it, his hand gently enveloping mine. Neither one of us spoke or moved for a second.

"While I do appreciate a well deserved and well executed obscene gesture," Fred said, "the complete ladies manin me appreciates any excuse to hold hands with a girl." His mouth twitched into a smile as he let out a snort of laughter.

I groaned and pulled my hand away, covering my face as I laughed.

"Glad to see you've cheered up a little," Fred said a moment later as our laughter slowed. He cleared his throat. "Do you still want to stay for dinner?"

I thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I do, actually."

Fred nodded and checked his watch. "We close up the shop in another thirty minutes. Do you want to come back down with me or stay up here? I could stay with you..."

I shook my head. "I'll wait here, but you can go help George close up. Don't make the poor guy do it all by himself."

"You sure?"

I nodded. "Go."

Fred discarded the postcard on the table before standing up and heading for the door. "If you need anything, yell for me, okay?"

"Got it," I said. I held out my hand. "You want to shake on it again? Another reason to hold my hand?"

Fred snorted. "Remember when I told you I appreciated a well deserved obscene gesture?"

"You wouldn't," I said.

Fred responded by giving me a slow, devious smirk, holding up a fist, and slowly raising his middle finger. I grabbed a pillow off of the couch and flung it at him as he practically cackled with laughter and darted through the doorway.

I collapsed back into the arm of the couch with a sigh. My eyes drifted back over to the postcard lying on the coffee table and I ran a hand through my hair as I stared at it. Fred was right. It sounded impossible that it could be the same postcard that I'd owned all those years ago, but I was sure it was. I just knew it. I had so many questions as far as this mystery woman was involved and talking to her today had gotten me nowhere. In fact, she might have asked me more questions than I'd asked her. And yet, she seemed so hopeful and sure that I'd understand everything at some point.

The thought seemed so impossible, and yet so many other things that I'd thought impossible had happened, especially lately. I'd thought it impossible that I could let myself get comfortable with _anyone_. I'd thought it impossible that I could get close to anyone. I'd thought it impossible for me to have a family or friends. I'd been starting to think being happy again was impossible. I'd started to think finding answers about my past was now impossible.

It was all so scary and there was no way of knowing if it would ever get less scary. But it was still comforting to know that I wasn't the only one who was scared. I wasn't the only one trying to figure things out. Fred was in quite a similar boat and it felt good to know that if I ever needed him, I could, in his words, _give him a shout_ , and he'd be there.

I couldn't even remember the last time I'd felt that way.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope everyone likes the new chapter! Don't forget to leave a review and let me know what you thought! It's always much appreciated!**

 **I hope everyone has a good holiday/holiday season and a great New Year!**


	17. Chapter 17

_May 2nd, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts._

 _The cells of the Salem jail are dark, damp and dirty. They have a single, incredibly small, barred window at one end and a thick wooden door at the other, also complete with a small, barred window—well, more like a tiny rectangle, really. The only light that ever comes in to the small space is from those windows, and it is barely enough to even be counted as light. The air is thick with heat and positively reeks of sweat and urine. Whenever it is high tide, the jail is often flooded with a good few inches of water. It comes up to my ankles and I am forced to stand until it recedes so that my dress does not get wet. Although, it is dirty and ragged enough by now._

 _The cells are also tiny and claustrophobic. I can lie flat on my back and fill up the entire length of cell three hundred and twenty seven, which is the cell I've been assigned. My head touches one wall and my feet touch the door, meaning the cell is five feet, five inches long. As for width, I am not sure of the exact measurements, but I estimate that there is only enough room for me to extend my arms if I bent my wrists and pressed my palms against the cold, dirty stone. I cannot test it for certain, though, considering my wrists have been bound together by iron shackles, the chain in between them just long enough to give me the ability to write._

 _Even so, I am writing this with difficulty and my handwriting is nearly illegible, but I need to write this down somehow. Mainly for myself and to maintain some sliver of sanity, however small it may be. But also for anyone who may read this diary in the future. Whether it be my child, if they survive this, or someone else. The truth needs to be known. The truth of how harshly the conditions are for those accused. The fact that some of the accused are not even magical at all. They know nothing about magic or spells or flying on a broomstick. But most of all the fact that we have all been accused of being evil, magic or not. We have been accused of making deals with the devil and carrying out his work by torturing the young girls of the village. We have been accused of harming members of our own community. None of it is true, but no one will listen to us. Our words fall on deaf ears._

 _Friends from other towns have even come to my and John's defense, claiming we would never harm another person. A petition was even started and it gained quite a few signatures, but it was no use. John and I are still imprisoned on opposite sides of this terrible place filled with rats, prisoners and hopelessness._

 _I spend most of my days lying diagonally across my cell. It gives me a bit more room. Not much, of course, but it is slightly more comfortable than lying straight across. In fact, I had been lying like that only moments ago, before I decided to sit up and write. I like to lie flat on my back as I gaze up at the ceiling, tracing a hand over my stomach-the best I can with my wrists chained together. It is hard to believe that only a mere four weeks ago, I found out that I was pregnant. A joyous piece of news, only for the joy to be snuffed out completely when the judge had shown up with a warrant for my arrest._

 _Since then, I have been examined and questioned, poked and prodded for any signs of witchcraft. I was forced to strip myself completely naked in front of the examiners while they looked for any of the physical marks of a witch. They found a mole on the very top of my left thigh, in the back, and spent a considerate amount of time prodding and examining it while I fought back tears and tried to steady my shaking limbs. I had never felt so utterly violated in my entire life._

 _And then I was thrown in the jail. Families of the imprisoned are ordered to pay for everything. The examinations, the cells, the food and even the shackles and chains. If they can't, they were denied these things. They were put in a small chamber, just big enough for a body to stand in-practically a vertical coffin._

 _I suppose I am lucky. My cell is small, but John and I had enough money to pay to stay in one like it. Unfortunately, this was not the way we had foreseen ever spending our hard earned money-and all our costs were doubled because we were both serving time. We could have been saving money for the start of our family-for our child-but instead it was going towards our terrible provisions here at the Salem jail._

 _The one bit of luck—the tiniest, insignificant detail, and yet the luckiest thing that had happened since my arrest—is that I have been placed in a cell beside Sarah and Dorothy. They occupy the cell to my left. Soon after I had arrived here, I had discovered a loose stone in the corner of the wall between the two cells. I had been looking for a place to stash this diary besides magically shrinking it and hiding it on me. I was always afraid it would be found during an examination._

 _Anyway, I found the loose stone and managed to wedge it out to reveal a space big enough to hide the diary, but also a hole that opened up to the next cell where I was pleasantly surprised to see Sarah and Dorothy huddled together. By laying diagonally with our heads closest to the hole, we found we could whisper to each other to communicate. Besides the diary, it was the only other thing preventing me from going insane. I suspected Sarah felt the same way._

 _And poor Dorothy. She was only four years old and had endured a tremendous amount of pain in suffering. It has been a little over a month since her arrest and prison was taking a toll on her. Sarah told me the child had cried almost every night for a week after she arrived here. In fact, she had wailed. Until the guards put an end to it. Yelled at her, denied her meals (if some meager portions of bread and fruit three times a day could be called meals) and one even came in and slapped her. Eventually the crying stopped and Dorothy became quiet. She now only speaks to her mother and, on occasion, me. Sarah said the poor girl was probably clinging to the only two sources of comfort she currently knew._

 _I have told the judge and the prison guards that I am expecting and they accused me of lying. But they will find out the truth soon when the evidence begins to show. It will buy me some extra time, but not much. Sarah, though, has even less time than I do, I fear. And where will that leave Dorothy? If she is not executed herself, she will either remain in jail until her father can pay her release fees, or she will be released to continue life as she was before: penniless, homeless, and by that point, motherless. And with me and John gone, too, I fear what will become of the poor girl. I fear what all of this emotional trauma will do to her. I fear what will happen if she does not continue to have proper guidance._

 _I know it should be me and my unborn child I worry about, and I do. More than anything. Being locked up in this cell gives me a lot of time to think and a lot of time to wallow in my thoughts. But I also cannot help but worry about Dorothy. She and Sarah have grown to be good friends of mine and I have always wanted to fiercely protect those who are closest to me. I have always enjoyed helping people and giving advice. But I fear the ability to help these people is now beyond my control. And while I am already wildly in love with my unborn child already, and while my pregnancy postpones my execution for a few months, it also puts me in the worst position imaginable._

 _The position of having to watch everyone I love get taken away before me while I stand by, powerless and unable to do a thing. It is impossible to save everyone. I know that. But what happens when you cannot even save anyone? When, despite your actual magic powers, you're still powerless? And using those magical powers to do something will only make things worse? When no matter what you do, you are always going to be, in someone's eyes...guilty?_

* * *

"You look like you're a million years away."

I was finishing up my closing duties at the pub that Friday night when Noah came into the kitchen with the last pile of dishes to be cleaned. He placed them next to the sink before leaning in and quickly kissing my cheek.

I gave him a small smile as I glanced up at him. It was true, what he'd said. I'd been completely lost in thought before he'd come in. The twins had the diary today. I'd been curious and a little worried about Fred reading it. I knew the last little bit of it would really resonate with him. And then he and George hadn't come in for dinner and drinks like they usually did on Fridays. Instead, George had come in alone and taken food home with him. I'd noticed him come in and stand by the bar, letting Tom know he was waiting. Once Tom had disappeared to get the food, I had made my way over to George. When I'd asked if everything was okay, he'd nodded and said Fred had just wanted to stay in and _think_.

All George and I had to do was look at each other after that and I knew we both knew what Fred was thinking about. That entry. So much of the way Elizabeth had felt during the trials was similar to what Fred had felt when Percy died. So much of her story dealt with guilt, feeling powerless, and the desire to save the people she loved, even when the odds of doing that were against her.

"I think he really relates to her," George had said, shaking his head. "It's like he's starting to feel understood in ways that the rest of us can't completely do." He cleared his throat. "Thank you...for sharing it with him."

I sighed and shrugged. "I didn't originally do it for him," I said. "I did it because _I_ was scared. My reasons for doing it were selfish."

George smiled. "You didn't _originally_ do it for him?" he asked. "What about now?"

All I did was smile shyly and look away. "I'd better get back to work. I'm just glad Fred's okay."

Now, I charmed the last pile of dishes to start washing and drying themselves before turning and leaning against the sink as I waited. I looked over at Noah, who was discarding his dirty apron into the basket in the corner.

"I was just thinking," I said quietly, massaging my neck with one hand.

"About what?" Noah asked.

"Remember that woman I told you about who gave me that necklace?" I'd told Noah about the necklace shortly after the twins had returned it to me and while he thought it was odd as well, once he knew it wasn't cursed, he seemed less worried. He didn't seem to consider it much of a big deal, more like a lucky accident. As long as it wasn't unsafe, why not keep it, he'd said. _Isn't that a girl's idea of hitting the jackpot?_ He'd asked.

Perhaps, but not as far as I was concerned.

"Yeah, what about her?" Noah asked now, in response to my question.

"I saw her again," I said.

"When?" Noah's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Last Thursday at the twins' joke shop. She was just standing there _staring_ at me from across the room! So Fred caught up to her and we tried to ask her questions about the necklace, but she didn't really give us any answers. Instead, she seemed more interested in the fact that we had it checked for curses and jinxes and whether or not I'd worn it yet."

"Why haven't you?" Noah asked curiously.

I shrugged. "Scared, I guess. Even though Bill said it came back clean, this whole situation freaks me out too much. Plus, part of me keeps wondering if the thing's stolen from somewhere. If it is, do I really want to go flashing it around?" I shrugged and cleared my throat. "There's something else, too. When she left, she dropped this." I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the postcard. I handed it to Noah with bated breath, anxious to see how he'd react and even if he'd remember my story about the postcard.

I watched as his eyebrows came together and he frowned slightly, turning the postcard over a few times. "This wouldn't happen to be the same photo that was on the postcard you had as a child, would it? The one you said you threw away because it made you think of your mother?"

I nodded. "Noah, I think it's the same postcard."

His head snapped up to look at me. "Soph, that's-"

"Impossible? I know, it sounds nuts. But-look, it's even been ripped and taped back together. It's old. It's worn...And with this lady appearing everywhere and watching me and leaving me these things to find. I almost have to wonder if she left me the diary, but-"

"What diary?" Noah asked.

I stopped talking abruptly and buried my head in my hands. I'd forgotten Noah didn't know about the diary. Just then, I gasped and my head snapped up as I thought of something else. "What if she was the one who was watching me that day you and I went to the ice cream parlor? There was a woman watching me but I didn't get to see her face clearly. What if it was her? What if it was her in the alleyway the night of Rachel's birthday party? Remember we heard a noise?"

"Woah, woah, woah," Noah said, holding up a hand and coming to stand in front of me. He set the postcard down on the counter and gently put his hands on my shoulders. "Slow down. Let's not get ahead of ourselves." He rubbed his thumbs back and forth across my arms. "What diary are you talking about?"

"Back in May, someone bumped into me when I was out in Diagon Alley and they dropped a diary on the ground in front of me. I didn't see who it was who dropped it, but I picked it up and opened it and it belonged to a woman who was involved in the Salem Witch Trials."

"Salem-where you're from?" Noah asked.

"Exactly," I nodded. "So I've been making my way through it over the past few months."

"You've been reading it? You kept it?" Noah asked. "Did you get that checked for jinxes too?"

I shook my head. "No. I found it before I'd even met Fred's brother or knew he was a curse breaker. I considered it might be dangerous and I was afraid at first, but I've been reading it since May and nothing's happened."

"I think you should get it checked," Noah said, his face etched with concern. "And I think you should tell all this to Tom and Martha."

"No," I insisted.

"Sophie, if someone's following you and-and- _stalking you_ -"

"I don't think she's dangerous," I said.

"How do you _know_?"

"The twins said-"

"Sophie, listen," Noah interrupted with a sigh. "I don't think the twins know what the definition of _danger_ is. I'm not saying they'd _intentionally_ put you in harm's way, but you might wind up there accidentally, just because they don't have any concept of it! It's like they think people are invincible."

"They don't think that," I whispered. "What about what happened to their brother?"

Noah's face softened. "I'm just not sure the twins are the only people you should be involving here."

"I told you, didn't I?" I whispered, looking up at him and smiling. "And I know you'll protect me, won't you?" I paused. "Although, I've heard from the girls that you literally won't kill flies. Or any insects for that matter. And that you're even _mostly_ vegetarian."

Noah snorted. "They're right. But so are you. If anyone tries to hurt you...I'm going to do everything I can to stop them."

I felt this sudden surge of affection towards Noah and my eyes filled with tears for a second before I rapidly blinked them back. I reached up and gently ran a hand through his hair. "Please...don't say anything just yet. I'm not exactly sure what I'm dealing with at the moment, and while I'm still a bit worried and confused and a little scared...I also worry that the involvement of too many people might make it worse. Too many hands in the pot, right? Isn't that the saying?"

"Or too many cooks in the kitchen," Noah said with a smirk, looking around the room. "Although, as of right now, I only see two."

I let out a quiet laugh. "We're not even cooks," I said.

Noah smiled before it faded slightly. "Fine, I won't say anything. _Yet_. But if anything happens, I want you to tell me. And at the first sign of any kind of real danger, we go to Tom and Martha. Understood?"

I hesitated.

"Sophie," Noah said, raising his eyebrows.

Finally, I nodded. "Okay."

"Good," Noah said, leaning forward and kissing my forehead. "Now go on upstairs and get some sleep. I'll see you Sunday."

I smiled as I headed for the staircase. On Sunday, Noah was taking me to meet his mother. Saying I was nervous was an understatement, but I'd been assured by Martha that Noah's mother was essentially just like Noah. Kind, gentle, smart, caring. And that did a lot to ease my nerves.

"I'll see you Sunday," I told him, stepping onto the first step and looking at him over my shoulder. "You'll be here at noon?" I asked.

"Noon," Noah repeated with a nod. "Now go on, I'll lock up."

"Okay," I whispered. I gazed at him over my shoulder, a soft smile on my face, for a moment longer before turning and jogging up the stairs.

* * *

Martha had been completely right. Noah's mother was just like him. She was a small, petite woman, not much taller than me, with large brown eyes and an equally large smile. She looked a lot like Noah, too. In fact, she was essentially the older, female version of him.

She was thrilled to see me. She never stopped beaming from the second she opened the door, actually.

"Noah's told me so much about you," she said enthusiastically as she ushered us into the house. She leaned up and gave Noah's cheek a brief kiss before turning to me and reaching out to take both of my hands in hers and give them a squeeze. "It's so nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs.-er-Ms Thompson," I said, blushing furiously as I realized she was no longer married and that Noah's father had left her for another woman.

"Please, call me Julie," she said, her smile never faltering.

I found myself smiling back. "Noah's always spoken very highly of you. He adores you, actually."

"Oh, please, if he adores anyone, it's _you_!" she said with a laugh.

"I adore both of you," Noah said, throwing an arm around each of us.

"You're sweet," his mother said, reaching up to pat his cheek. She pulled away from him and began walking further into the house, gesturing for us to follow her. "Now, come on, I've just made lunch."

I found that being with Noah's mother was much like being with Mrs. Weasley or Martha. While she was the youngest out of the three of them, she was still just as warm, friendly and loving. She welcomed me into her home and her life with open arms. She listened to every word I spoke with rapt attention. When I told her I had grown up in foster care and had aged out of the system without being adopted, I could have sworn her eyes filled with tears as she put her hand over mine. But any sign of tears were gone a moment later, even though I was certain I had seen them.

She was empathetic, just like Noah, I realized. She had genuine compassion for people and things. I knew she had also gone through a period of pain herself with her husband leaving her and then having to raise Noah on her own. It must have been tough on her-I couldn't imagine it _not_ being tough. And yet, she had remained hopeful and warm and optimistic. It was admirable, really.

She told me stories about Noah as a child, some of which made me giggle and Noah blush and protest with a groan. Some of them made all three of us laugh. And some made her seem nostalgic.

"Sometimes I miss the days when you were a young boy," she said, propping her chin in her hand and gazing across the table at Noah. She had made us all tea and she was now stirring hers aimlessly with her free hand. "You've grown so much and I don't know where the time's gone. Although, you'll still always be my little boy." She chuckled and reached out to ruffle Noah's hair as he playfully swatted her away.

"Stop," he laughed.

"What?" she asked with a shrug, standing up to clear the empty tea mugs. She looked at me and shook her head. _Boys_ , she mouthed, rolling her eyes slightly. I couldn't help but let out a quiet giggle.

"She likes you," Noah whispered in my ear as his mother began washing the dishes.

I turned sideways in my seat and faced him. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "Mhm."

"She seems really proud of you," I said, resting my elbow on the back of my chair and propping my head up on my hand. "You're her pride and joy."

"I'm her only child," Noah said with her laugh.

"Her little boy," I teased as Noah laughed.

There was a pause before Noah spoke again, his voice low and his eyes downcast. "I don't feel like I do much to make her proud."

"What do you mean?" I asked in surprise. "Noah, you're a great person. You're kind, you're smart. You're a good friend. You're funny. You're there for people when they need it. You're patient..."

Noah shrugged. "I suppose, but I guess what I mean is that I never imagined I'd be working cleaning tables at the Leaky Cauldron either. I think my mother always wishes I'd gone out and just done what I wanted to do with my life."

"Which is what?" I asked.

Noah swallowed and shifted his gaze so that he was now looking at the ceiling. "I wanted to start my own restaurant or pub," he said.

"Really?" I asked in interest.

Noah nodded. "I learned how to do a lot of baking once my mother started working at the bakery. And I did a lot of cooking once my dad left. You know, to help out. I think I got quite good at it."

"You never mentioned that," I said. "I was the same way. I did a lot of the cooking in my foster home."

Noah nodded. "I know." He finally looked at me. "But it's hard to start your own business, especially when the Leaky Cauldron already exists, you know? People go there and if they're not there, they go to Hogsmeade for the Three Broomsticks. The competition is already so high. And starting something on my own is so _expensive_. It's money my mum and I never had. A lot of what I earn goes to helping my mother out, so saving up is slow going. Mum insists that I should keep all of what I earn and that she's fine-well, she at least tries to insist. But _I_ insist on helping her. It's the least I could do after all she's done for me."

"Noah," I whispered, leaning forward and taking his hand. "You are so wrong about her not being proud of you. How could she _not_ be? You are so genuinely kind and thoughtful and selfless. There aren't many people like that in the world. Trust me, I know. And as for opening your own place-I'm sure it's difficult and scary, but I think if it's something you really want, then you'll figure out a way to get there. And when the timing is right, I think everything will all work out. Who knows, maybe I can convince Tom and Martha to retire early and leave the Leaky Cauldron to you." I smiled. "I certainly don't want to run it. I already told you that."

"Yeah, only because you were planning on moving on and _leaving_ ," Noah snorted.

"Whether I stay or go, running the Leaky Cauldron isn't my dream," I said with a smile, shaking my head. "I'm more of a solitary being, in case you haven't noticed. And running a pub is far from solitary."

Noah actually laughed. "If you're so solitary, what are you doing here with me?" he asked. "And why do you hang out with Rachel, Kayla, and Allie so much? And the twins?"

I laughed too and looked away, shrugging one shoulder. "That's not my fault. I was practically forced against my will to be social."

"Every single time?" Noah asked with a raised eyebrow as I smiled slightly and looked away. He chuckled and continued talking. "You can act like you hate it all you want," he said quietly, staring down at our intertwined hands, "but you're not fooling me."

"No?" I asked. "Well, I suppose that's what I get for hanging around someone so smart."

Noah chuckled before leaning forward and giving my forehead a gentle kiss. "You flatter me," he said.

* * *

"I can't believe I've let you drag me out here," Fred said, leaning close to my ear in order to be heard above the noise of the pub we were sitting in.

"I can't believe I let _Rachel_ drag _me_ out here," I answered. "I was just starting to get used to going to The Three Broomsticks."

"Which I'm sure is why she decided to switch things up on you," Fred said.

I shook my head and laughed. It was Saturday night and Rachel, Allie, and Kayla had decided amongst themselves that instead of meeting at The Three Broomsticks as usual, we were going to go to a place in Muggle London. For a _change of scenery_ , apparently. Rachel had convinced me to go, and in turn, I had asked the twins to come as well. Sort of as backup. I oddly felt more comfortable with them there. I knew how the girls were when we went out. Loose and carefree and talkative...and even the guys were like that to a certain extent. I knew Noah would be there too and that he would never do anything to make me feel out of place. He'd always remember to include me and make sure I was joining in the conversation. But he also had his own friends. I didn't want him to feel like he had to babysit me, even though I knew he never felt that way.

It was currently just about half past ten o'clock and we'd been there for nearly an hour already. There was a live band playing in the corner and people were dancing in the space right in front of them. It wasn't much of a surprise that Rachel was already up there with Kayla and Allie. All three of them had drink bottles in their hands and were jumping and moving all around with such force, I was amazed they hadn't spilled anything yet.

Noah was up there with them, funnily enough. Kayla had all but forced Chris to go up and join her, and Chris, in turn, had forced Noah and Alex up there with him.

"If I go, we all go," he'd muttered, downing the last of his drink as he stood up.

Noah had shot me a questioning look as he'd gotten up. "Want to come?" he'd asked.

"Er...no," I said. "I don't dance."

"Are you sure?" he asked, tilting his head.

I nodded. "You go...have fun."

Noah looked at me, biting his lip, before he was dragged away by Alex. That didn't stop him from shooting me glances over his shoulder as he went, though. A few of those glances were also thrown at Fred, I couldn't help but notice.

Once the three guys had gone, it had left me, Fred and George alone at the table together, watching everyone else. I was honestly glad for the company because there was no way I was getting up there and dancing.

"You two can go enjoy yourselves if you want," I finally said, mostly to be polite. I didn't want them to feel as if they had to sit here with me, even though I liked that they were.

Fred shrugged, but George suddenly smiled as he gazed towards the doorway. "Ah, I might have to take you up on that suggestion because Katie just showed up."

I looked towards the doorway to see Katie standing at the door, searching the room for her boyfriend. My eyebrows instantly shot up, however, when I saw who was standing slightly behind her. Angelina and Oliver.

"What are _they_ doing here?" Fred asked, rounding on George with a frown.

"I said they could come," George said, standing up and waving to get Katie's attention. She smiled and started heading over to us.

"Why?" Fred asked through gritted teeth.

"Because Katie asked if they could," George said. "And what was I going to say? No? Because their presence makes my brother uncomfortable?"

"Yes, because it's true and there's a good reason for it," Fred growled, taking a long sip of his drink. "You _know_ that."

George turned to his brother with a sympathetic smile and put a hand on his shoulder. "You can't be uncomfortable forever, mate," he said quietly.

Before Fred could respond, Katie, Angelina and Oliver had appeared at the table. There was a flurry of noise as Katie greeted George with a kiss, Angelina hugged him and Oliver gave him a friendly handshake.

Next to me, Fred scoffed quietly and rolled his eyes. I raised an eyebrow, but before I could say anything, the others had turned to Fred.

"Hi Fred," Angelina said pleasantly. "How are you?"

Fred seemed geared up to make some kind of snarky response, but then he leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "Not bad," he said. "I haven't managed to drink myself to death, so that's a plus isn't it?" He grinned and held up his drink. "Cheers to me." He took a long drink as Angelina and Oliver just stared.

I groaned quietly and looked away in embarrassment. And there it was. The snarky comment I'd thought we'd avoided.

"Well, Fred, you _look_ good," Angelina said. "Healthy. George says you're doing a lot better with...everything. I'm glad."

Fred forced a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, I'm doing just _grand_."

I reached out and lightly touched his hand that was resting on his knee under the table. It had clenched into a fist. To my surprise, he opened his fingers and grabbed my hand, squeezing that instead, but much gentler. And it actually seemed to calm him down a bit.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met," Angelina said, turning to me. "Are you-are you and Fred together?" Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she glanced at Fred.

"No," I said with a glance at Fred of my own. "We're just friends."

"Oh," Angelina said, almost looking a little deflated. "I'm sorry. I just thought..."

Fred let out an odd noise that sounded like he was half grunting, half choking. He stared up at the ceiling and took another sip of his drink. I tightened my hold on his hand slightly, just for a second. Anything to keep him distracted.

"This is Sophie," George said, tilting his head towards me. "Sophie, this is Angelina and Oliver. Friends of ours from school."

I leaned forward and shook Angelina's hand, then Oliver's. This was the first time I'd ever seen them up close. Angelina was very pretty, with dark skin, eyes and hair. She was tall, like Rachel, and clearly very athletic. And Oliver, well, I could see why Allie would think he was good looking. He was tall as well with lighter brown hair and hazel eyes. I even noticed that dimple I'd heard about from the girls. Allegedly, Allie was a sucker for guys with dimples.

"Where did you meet the twins?" Oliver asked me.

"Leaky Cauldron," I said. "I work there."

"Oh, okay," Angelina said brightly. She looked at Oliver. "I don't think we've ever seen you there."

"I like to lay pretty low," I said. "I just clean tables. I don't go noticed very often."

"I noticed you," Fred said, looking over at me with a small smile.

"Yeah, only took you, what, a month of me being there?" I answered, raising my eyebrows.

"Really?" Angelina commented with a raised eyebrow and a slight good natured laugh. "That's practically a lifetime as far as the twins are concerned."

"Hilarious, Ange, truly," Fred said with a roll of his eyes.

George cleared his throat loudly. "Okay, so! Ange, Oliver, and Katie. Care to go find you some drinks?"

" _Absolutely_ ," Angelina said with a sigh, half-glancing back at Fred as if the few minutes she'd spent interacting with him had exhausted her.

I felt myself feeling badly for both of them. What Angelina had done to Fred had really hurt him and it wasn't necessarily _right_ of her to do it. But at the same time, I didn't know the full story. I didn't know her side of it or how she had felt throughout the whole ordeal. And it seemed as if she was trying to maintain a relationship. Or at the very least some sort of cordiality.

"Great, wonderful," George was saying now, his tone cheerful. He turned to Fred and lowered his voice. " _Please_ go easy on the snide comments. Don't do this tonight. Have fun. Go dance or something. Blow off some steam, ease your nerves."

Fred only shrugged in response and busied himself with his drink. George gently patted his brother's shoulder before turning and following the others towards the bar. For a few moments after that, Fred and I simply sat in silence, watching the people dancing not too far from us. We were now the only two left at the table.

"I know you were hurt by Angelina breaking up with you and then essentially going straight to Oliver," I said, "and you might still be hurt by it. But do you have to make your irritation so obvious?"

"Yeah, I know it must have been absolutely _killing_ you," Fred snorted. "Hatred of confrontation and all that, yeah?"

"No, it's not that," I said. "Not completely. And I know I don't know all the details, but she seems nice. She's at least trying to be friendly."

"You're right," Fred said, his voice tense, "you don't know all the details. You don't exactly have the right to be telling me this." He wasn't looking at me. Instead, he was still staring straight ahead, at the group of people on the dance floor. But it seemed as if he weren't even seeing them. Finally, he turned to look at me wearily. "Sophie, have you ever had your heart broken?"

I snorted. "My whole life is one big heartbreak," I said. "I _do_ know what it's like to have someone give up on you, Fred."

"Yeah, your parents," he said. "Not someone you were romantically involved with. And I know parents aren't supposed to give up on you. They're supposed to love you unconditionally, but...shouldn't that go for everyone that loves you? That's what love _is_. It's unconditional. No matter who it is-if someone tells you they love you..." He trailed off and shook his head.

"It _should_ be," I whispered. "Unconditional, I mean. But the thing is that people leave. Angelina did. My parents did. Like you said, parents are supposed to love you unconditionally. It's their job. Even when you screw up and you're a mess, they're supposed to support you. And I couldn't even rely on my parents to do that. So people don't always do what's expected of them. But I don't think Angelina dumped you because she didn't love you unconditionally. I think she wanted you to get better, but-"

"I was too complicated," Fred said. "I was too much to handle. I wasn't myself anymore. I wasn't the guy she fell in love with. Being with Wood was _normal_ and _easy_. So she gave up on me."

I sighed. "It seems to me like she genuinely still cares about you." I shrugged. "But then again, what do I know?" I reached out and grabbed my own drink, taking a big sip from it and wincing slightly as I swallowed.

Fred was staring at me in slight amusement. He chuckled a little bit and shook his head before standing up and holding out his hand. "I think it's time for a little bit of dancing."

"Absolutely not," I said, shaking my head and laughing. "No. I don't dance."

Fred smiled. "Come on, Soph, it's time you started letting loose."

I shook my head again. "You go."

"And let you sit here all by yourself?" he asked. "I know you'd prefer that, but I won't allow it."

"I don't know _how_ to dance," I said.

"Nobody knows how to dance!" Fred protested. He leaned down and grasped my hand, gently pulling me to my feet. "Come on."

"No," I groaned, trying to fight him, but he was having none of it. He dragged me over to the others. When Rachel saw me, she let out a hoot of joy.

"Yes!" she shrieked. "You've come to join us."

I stood where I was, completely still. Fred had dropped my hand and was wildly jumping about at my side. I crossed my arms awkwardly as I laughed slightly at how ridiculous they all looked. I knew that my fears of looking ridiculous shouldn't matter if they all did as well and I knew that had been Fred's point. But at the same time, they all seemed to be ridiculous without being embarrassing.

It was just another situation where I didn't know what to do with myself without feeling funny or out of place. It had been ages since I'd been able to just let loose and have fun without worrying about the attention I was drawing to myself.

"Hey, glad you decided to come have some fun!" Noah appeared in front of me suddenly, his face pink and his hair sticking up in some places.

I smiled. "I don't really know how to dance," I said hesitantly.

"No worries," Noah grinned. "Believe it or not, it's actually really easy." He reached out and took one of my hands in his, pulling it up and spinning me around as I giggled. "See? Not so bad," he went on, keeping a hold of my hand as he moved goofily in time with the music. "Just copy some of the dumb moves the rest of us are doing." He demonstrated his point by shuffling back and forth and kind of bobbing his head around.

"Noah!" I giggled, turning away and covering my face with my free hand. I couldn't help it. He looked so silly. And something told me he'd even tried to look silly on purpose for my sake.

"Don't worry so much," he whispered. He spun me around again before pulling me to him and quickly dipping me downwards. I let out a squeal and clung to him as my eyes widened in shock.

"You okay?" Noah asked, the tiniest of smiles lifting up one corner of his mouth.

My face melted into a smile of my own and I nodded. "Fine."

"I think typically those are supposed to go a lot smoother," Noah said, gently pulling me back up to a standing position.

"I think typically the other person has a bit of warning before they're sent plummeting towards the ground and their potential death," I said with a playful roll of my eyes.

"Potential death?" Noah laughed. "Hardly. I'd _never_ let that happen."

I felt my cheeks turn a light shade of pink. "Appreciated," I said quietly.

Just then, I was practically yanked away from him by Rachel. "Bathroom break," she announced, dragging me across the pub, Kayla and Allie in front of her.

I turned around and looked back at Noah, who shrugged, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. I mouthed _sorry_ over my shoulder at him before he disappeared from my view by the crowd of people Rachel was currently pulling me through.

"Why am I needed for this?" I asked Rachel as we entered the bathroom. I stood by the sinks, leaning backwards against them as I waited. "I don't even have to go."

"Standard procedure," Rachel answered.

"It's in the girl code handbook," Kayla added. "In the chapter on friendship."

"Wouldn't know," I muttered under my breath, turning to face the mirror and peering at my face. My cheeks were slightly pink, most likely from the alcohol and the bit of dancing I'd participated in, however brief it had been. I ran my fingers through a few sections of my hair, smoothing it down. Rachel had done my makeup again tonight-completely minimal, just the way I liked, but there was still enough to make a difference. But even without the makeup, I would have noticed a change in my appearance.

I was healthier. Plain and simple. Looking at my reflection now, I saw a girl who no longer had dark circles under her eyes. I saw a girl whose face was no longer gaunt, whose body was no longer too thin. I saw a girl with rosy cheeks and clean skin and hair. I saw a girl with a slight smile on her face and clear blue eyes framed by long lashes. Eyes that weren't darting back and forth in fear. I was seeing the girl I could have already been- _years_ ago, had things gone differently. I was seeing the girl I suppose I deserved to be. Happy. Safe. Loved. Having fun with her friends. It was an addicting feeling.

But every so often, I'd remind myself that this wasn't over yet. There was still a huge mystery hanging over my head and every time I thought of it, a knot would form in my stomach.

The girls suddenly flanked me at the sinks and started washing their hands, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"So..." Rachel said, turning and leaning against the sink, looking at Allie expectantly. "How are you feeling about Oliver being here, Al?" she asked.

"I knew that's why you announced a bathroom break," Allie muttered.

"You mean you didn't announce it so that you could use the bathroom?" I asked.

"Again, standard procedure. Girl handbook," Rachel told me with a slight laugh. "But seriously, where else would we go in order to have a discussion away from everyone else. I can't ask Allie how she's feeling about Oliver _in front of_ Oliver."

I smiled. "True." I looked at Allie. "George invited him and Angelina. Katie was already coming and she asked if they could come. And George said yes, so...I'm sure he didn't do it intentionally. He probably doesn't even know the whole story. Unless, of course, he does." I shrugged and bit my lip as I told myself to stop rambling. "If it helps, Fred's obviously uncomfortable too."

"I'm surprised he's not completely wasted already," Rachel said with a snort.

I felt an odd ache in my chest at her jab at Fred. "He actually hasn't seemed that bad. Not as bad as I was fearing he'd be."

"Well, the night is still young," Rachel said. When she saw my face, she sighed. "Look, I like Fred. Everyone does. Well...mostly everyone. I don't want to see him this way. But for the past year, he's just been..." She let a puff of air out of her mouth. "You know the day someone came to the Leaky Cauldron drunk during the day? And you had to clean their vomit off the stairs? You know that was him?"

"Yeah, I figured that out, actually," I said quietly.

"He just got pretty unpredictable. He got into this...hole, almost."

"Can you blame him?" I asked.

There was a pause. "No," Rachel said. "He's been dealt a lot of bad cards in the past year. I know he's hurting and I don't wish that on anyone. But-the way he was handling it was just awful. I mean, look at you, for example. You've been through some stuff, too. You barely drink at all, never mind letting yourself get wasted all the time, trashing your flat, missing the birth of your niece and getting drunk instead..."

"He's getting better," I said.

"Maybe he is," Rachel shrugged. "I hope so. But I don't want you to get hurt either. We already talked about this."

"Fred's not using me," I said. "I know that's what you think. That he's just trying to save me like he failed to save Percy, but...he's not."

"How can you possibly know that?" Rachel asked.

"I just do. I trust him."

Rachel stared at me for a moment, one eyebrow raised in an expression of skepticism. "Listen," she finally said with a sigh. "I know this is all new to you. I'm trying to help you out. I don't want you to take it the wrong way, but I've grown up with a lot of these people. I'm just...telling you what I know. And that's why I think Noah is so good for you, at least to be involved with romantically. He clearly really likes you and he's such a sweetheart. He's the most safe, sensible and selfless person I know."

"He is," I agreed quietly. "You're right."

"I know I am," Rachel said with a grin. "Now, let's get back out there. I'm in need of another drink."

Sighing, I let the girls lead me back out into the pub. I was already starting to feel exhausted in almost every sense of the word. As Rachel and the girls went to order more drinks, I headed back to the table where I collapsed into a chair, rested my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose.

"Had too much to drink?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

I raised my head and blearily looked up at the person who'd spoken. It was a man who was probably in his late thirties. He was tall with dark hair and eyes and he was smiling at me in slight amusement. I groaned internally. I wished he would go away. Although, I figured that if I was sitting in a pub, I should have come to expect the possibility of strangers talking to me. I also noticed he was American, like me. Which was almost a comfort, but also raised questions in my head. Even though there were loads of perfectly normal reasons for an American man to be here in London, my own abnormal story made me wonder.

"No," I said. "Not at all. Just...taking a minute."

"You seem a little too upset to be at a pub," he commented. "Then again, don't some people come here to drink their worries away?"

I stared at him for a second before shrugging. "I guess it depends on the person. I'm not much into using alcohol as a coping mechanism."

"Shame," he commented. "It does help."

"Temporarily," I said, staring around the room. Where were my friends? I'd wanted a moment alone from them a moment ago, but now I wished Rachel would appear and drag me back to the dance floor. Any reason to get away from this guy. I was trying to figure out the best way to remove myself from his presence for good-meaning that he wouldn't try to follow me-when he spoke again.

"Can I sit down?"

He didn't wait for an answer before he was taking a seat across from me and smiling at me. "The name's Mike." He held out his hand across the table.

I stared at it for a moment with a raised eyebrow before Fred's voice floated through my mind. _It's customary to shake it_. My mouth hitched up into a quick smile before I reached across the table and shook the guy's hand. He held on to it a bit longer than necessary, still smiling across the table at me. I managed to finally extract my hand from his grip and I cleared my throat as I quickly wiped my palm on my pant leg under the table.

"And your name is...?" Mike prompted.

"Uh...Emily," I said, somewhat amazed at how easily the lie came out of my mouth. Although, perhaps not all that surprised. Lying about my name was something I'd originally planned on doing when I got here, but once the Veritaserum came into play, I wasn't able to. And once I had told Tom and Martha my real name, I'd had no choice but to continue telling everyone else. Except this guy. I wasn't obligated to tell him anything. I didn't work with him. I didn't see him every day. We were in a Muggle pub in London. Realistically, I'd probably never see him again. But because he was a complete and total stranger, I was apprehensive about telling him my real name.

"Emily," he repeated, nodding his head slowly. "You don't look like an Emily."

"No?" I asked, my eyes continuing to dart around the room, looking for any familiar face. Part of me wanted to press him for information. What did he mean I didn't look like an Emily? I wasn't, of course, but what kind of comment was that? Had I not been convincing enough telling such a simple lie? Or was I just overthinking this all now?

Mike shook his head, continuing to just stare at me over the top of his own drink. "Did you come here with anyone?" he asked.

"Yeah, a group of friends," I said. "I should actually be finding them..." I started to push myself up from my chair, but Mike spoke again.

"No boyfriend?" he asked, lazily leaning back in his chair and taking another sip of his drink. "You know, I couldn't help but noticing you earlier dancing with that tall dark haired guy. But then before _that_ , you were sitting here next to that redheaded guy. You seemed pretty comfortable with both."

"You were watching me?" I asked, hating the slight nervous tremor that showed in my voice as I plopped back down in my seat in slight surprise.

"I mean, can you blame a guy for taking notice of a pretty girl?"

Of course. He was only watching me because he thought I was pretty. Not that it did anything to make me feel better, though. It still made me uncomfortable, but it was better than him staring at me because of something more sinister. Honestly, I needed to calm down and stop making assumptions. But it seemed as if no matter how far away I ran or how many people I now had on my side, I wouldn't be able to completely relax until I knew my foster dad was out of the picture. Unfortunately, that had to mean he was either dead or locked up with the key thrown away.

While I was trying to figure out how to respond, Noah appeared at the table, standing beside me and looking at Mike with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm Noah," he said, holding out his hand. His tone was polite, but I could tell he was sizing this guy up.

"Mike," he said after a pause, reaching out to shake Noah's hand. I could tell he was studying Noah just as intently as Noah was studying him. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably and chewed on my lower lip.

"Everything okay?" Noah asked, turning to me and keeping his voice low. I saw him glance back at Mike.

I nodded, but stood up from my chair and inched slightly closer to Noah. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" he asked, slipping his hand into mine as I nodded again.

"So I guess my question's been answered," Mike said with a lazy grin as he stood up from his chair and turned his attention to me. "It's a shame. I was going to offer to buy you a drink. Hell, I might've even done it either way. In fact, if you feel like it, come find me later." He winked before turning and walking away, throwing a glance at me over his shoulder as he did.

"What a creep," Noah muttered, glaring at Mike's retreating back. He turned back to me. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"Mm," I said, turning to look up at him. "He was just making me a little uncomfortable."

"Why didn't you come find me?" Noah asked.

I shrugged. "I was about to. In any case, I'm glad you showed up."

"Did you want to head home?" he asked.

I thought about it for a second. "Yeah, actually."

He nodded. "Okay, I'll go with you. We should go let the others know."

He took my hand and led me over to the bar where Rachel, Kayla and Allie were each sitting on a barstool and where Rachel was clearly in the middle of flirting with the bartender.

I decided to leave her to it and instead leaned against the bar beside Allie's stool. "Noah's bringing me home," I said to her and Kayla. "I just wanted to let you know."

"Why, what's going on?" Allie asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing. I'm just tired." I looked up and happened to notice Mike standing across the room, looking at me. I glanced away quickly. "And there was some guy trying to hit on me. Just rubbed me the wrong way, you know?"

"You shouldn't let him get to you," Kayla scoffed. "Honestly, if he comes near you again and says or does anything unwarranted, you tell him where to stick it. Or I'll do it for you. Or even Rachel would, right Rach?" She raised her voice and leaned over to lightly swat her friend.

Rachel turned towards us as the bartender began busying himself with another drink. "What's happening?" she asked curiously, swirling her drink around in her glass.

"Sophie's going home," Allie informed her.

"Why?" Rachel asked in surprise.

"Some jerk was hitting on her and made her uncomfortable," Kayla informed her.

Rachel promptly hopped off her barstool and came to stand next to me, scanning the room as she did so. "Which one? Point him out to me. Discreetly, of course."

I lowered my voice and shifted my gaze to the ground as to not end up being caught staring. "The tall, dark haired guy across the room. Holding a beer, wearing the black shirt and jeans. Talking to the guy in the baseball cap."

Rachel nodded slowly and I just knew she was staring at him and most likely giving him a death glare. She wouldn't care if he caught her. She wouldn't care one bit.

"If he comes back, I'll tell him off," she said, turning back to me. "Seriously. You don't have to be scared. Kayla's right. Don't let him scare you off. That means he wins."

I shook my head. "I appreciate that, Rach, but I'd just rather go home."

She sighed heavily. "Sophie, guys hit on girls at pubs all the time. It doesn't make it right, but it's normal. You can't let one creep ruin your entire night."

"He's not ruining it."

"My point is that you shouldn't have to leave early!" she said.

"Rachel, if she wants to go..." Noah began.

"No, Noah, I think if she wants to be less afraid of people and strangers then she needs to stop running away from everything."

I took a step back, feeling as if she'd hit me. She saw my expression and her expression softened.

"I'm just trying to look out for you," she said gently.

"I know. But there's just so much stuff that you don't understand."

"Then help me to!" she exclaimed. "We've been friends for months now and you still won't open up to me about most of your life! You can tell me things, you know. And yet, I think you've told everyone _but_ me. Don't you trust me?"

I looked up at her and studied her face. She actually looked a bit hurt.

"I-I've hardly told _everyone_ else," I stammered, unsure of what exactly to say. I knew that wasn't it, though. I should have just told her I trusted her. Because I did. But my story was so long and complicated and even Fred and Noah didn't know all of it. Fred probably knew the most, but there were a few pieces missing. The only two people who knew the _entire_ story only knew it because I'd been forced to tell them.

Rachel scoffed and turned away. "I honestly don't get it," she said, turning back for the bar.

I sighed. I had to admit, Rachel had been so nice to me since I'd been here. She'd welcomed me into her friend group. She'd been forcing me to get out places, despite my constant hesitation. She was always willing to help me with my clothes, hair and makeup-her way of sharing things she loved with me-but she always went with what I was comfortable with. She pushed me, but never harder than I was willing. Even tonight, she put up a bit of a fight, but she would've let me go home in the end. She was skeptical of Fred and while I didn't necessarily like it, I knew she was honestly doing it to look out for me.

"Wait," I finally said, the word coming from my mouth before I could stop it. I swallowed. "You're right. You deserve to know. I can't promise I'll be up to telling you everything all at once. No one else really even knows the whole, complete story either. Except Tom and Martha. But I can tell you what I've told Fred and Noah. I do trust you. And as I've said, I think you deserve to know. After how much you've done for me."

Rachel turned to look at me. "I don't want you to do it if you're not ready. I don't want you to do it just to make _me_ happy."

I shrugged. "I'm hoping at one point, telling my story will make _me_ happy. Merlin, that's all I've wanted since I ran away from home. Happiness. Freedom. And I don't know how to get it. I don't know where to start. But..." I trailed off and sighed before looking her in the eye, "they say the truth will set you free, don't they? So I suppose we should start there."

Rachel broke into a grin. "Can Allie and Kayla-?"

"Yes," I sighed, before she could finish.

She smiled even wider before coming to put an arm around my shoulders. "Perfect." She turned to Noah, who was leaning against the bar and looking at us in amusement. "Sorry, Noah, your services are no longer needed. _We,_ " -she gestured to me, Kayla and Allie- "are going to go back to my place and have a sleepover."

Noah chuckled and shook his head before pushing off the bar and coming over to me. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. "Have fun," he whispered.

I nodded. "Thank you," I whispered back. "For everything."

"I'll tell the others you're leaving," he said with a smile.

And with that, I followed the girls out of the pub. Within five minutes, we were back at Rachel's place. I was in a borrowed pair of her pajamas and we were all sitting cross legged on her bed, bowls of snacks in front of us on the pink patterned comforter. The setting was entirely to cozy and comfortable for what I was about to tell them. It felt so odd preparing to tell them my story in a room with twinkling Christmas lights bordering the windows, a pink comforter with matching pillows, and bowls of snacks in front of us.

But I couldn't delay it anymore. So, I cleared my throat and started at the beginning.

* * *

 **A/N:** **In case anyone was curious, a lot of the information included in the diary entry is true. For example the prisoners were forced to pay for their own cells and chains and if they couldn't, they were forced into tiny cells with only enough room to stand. Also, during high tide, the water did flood the floor of the jail. The bit about them being examined for markings of a witch is true and so is the part about Elizabeth being pregnant during her time in jail.**

 **I actually went to Salem in October and visited the building that used to be the Salem jail, which (fun fact!) is now an office building. They had actors playing the parts of prisoners telling their story of what it was like in the jail, so most of the information in the diary entry came from that.**

 **Thanks for reading and don't forget to leave a review to tell me what you think!**


	18. Chapter 18

I told Rachel, Kayla and Allie pretty much the whole story. Everything the twins and Noah knew, at least. I told them about my mom leaving and about my foster homes and the postcard. I told them about my latest foster home as well as Andrea and Eric. I left the details of my escape out, just as I'd done before, which naturally meant I left out the scars on my back. Those were essentially the only two things that none of my friends knew about so far. For a few reasons, really. One being that talking in detail about that day was still too hard and too terrifying. And two, I hated those scars. I was repulsed by them and I didn't want anyone else to see them either. It was better if they remained out of sight. If no one else knew about them and I covered them up, it was like they weren't there.

After I'd told them, I found myself even more relieved than I had before. I'd expected to feel anxious at the fact that more people knew my story, but it actually felt good. For the first time in a long time, I was feeling hopeful. Less scared and less lost. Maybe that was part of the reason Elizabeth had her diary. She didn't have many people she could talk to or trust either and the diary was her way of getting it all out. Being able to tell somebody without really telling anyone at all.

I also wasn't really all that surprised when the girls didn't immediately start staying clear of me once I'd told them. They didn't know what to say at first and they asked a lot of questions, but that was expected.

And then after that, nothing even changed. Not really anyway. Nothing except that I think the girls felt like they understood me a lot better. And there were no more secrets between us. I think it only made our friendship stronger and perhaps more real. Rachel even became slightly less pushy about things. But not by much. She still thought that me getting out more and being social and having a _life_ was for the best and would help me in the end. And maybe she was actually right.

* * *

About a week later, I was working on an especially busy Saturday morning when Martha stopped me.

"Sophie, darling, would you mind cleaning and turning over Mr. Smith's room?" she asked. "Room thirteen? He's leaving this morning."

"Of course," I answered.

"I'd do it, except for there's a lot of people out there for breakfast and Kyle needs some help." She gave me an apologetic look.

"Don't worry, I've got it," I assured her with a smile. I took my apron off and headed out front and up the guest staircases. I stopped in the hall closet a few doors down from room thirteen and grabbed the basket of cleaning supplies, using my wand to charm it into the air so that my hands were now free to grab clean towels and linens. And then I brought them all down the hall. I knocked twice just to confirm the room was empty before unlocking it and going inside.

I stood in the doorway and sighed wearily. The room was one of the messier rooms I'd been in. The quilt and bedsheets were rumpled and even partly hanging onto the floor. It looked like there was more trash surrounding the small trash can under the desk than there was in it. I was almost afraid to look in the bathroom.

I started by charming the bed to make itself and the trash to make its way into a bin I'd brought with me in order to remove the garbage from the room. I swept the floor and dusted and then moved on to the bathroom where I charmed the cleaning supplies to do their thing. It was times like these that I was so grateful for magic. Cleaning toilets by hand was the worst. I would know. I'd had to do it all the time back home.

When I was finally done, I headed back downstairs to the kitchen, where I washed my hands and put my apron back on. As I was tying the strings behind my back, Rachel and Allie came into the kitchen, both of them hanging up order slips in front of Kyle's work station so that he could start on the newest orders. He peered at them quickly as he continued preparing a dish of scrambled eggs.

"I heard you were given the unfortunate duty of cleaning Mr. Smith's room," Allie commented, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly as she looked at me. "Tell me, was his room as creepy as he is?"

"Just a little messy," I said. "Thank goodness for magic, honestly."

Allie did have a point, though. Mr. Smith had been staying at the Leaky Cauldron since Sunday night. He'd said he was visiting from Canada and during his first few nights, everyone seemed to notice that he had a habit of appearing to be watching everyone's every move.

It took only one night for Rachel and even Noah to bring up that they could swear they felt his eyes on them constantly, and Kayla, Allie and I backed them up.

"He's a writer," Martha had said, as this explained everything. "It's practically his job to be observant."

"Well, if he puts me in his next book, I hope I get sent some money for it," Rachel answered with a snort.

And after that, it was like floodgates opened. His quiet, observant nature gave way to a talkative, personable one and he was socializing, asking questions, cracking jokes like it was nothing. Noah, Rachel and Kayla seemed to warm up to him, but Allie and I had both been a little put off by his earlier silence, but simultaneous, rapt attention to everything going on. Of course, that was normal for me, though. Put off by anyone who paid closer attention to me than I was used to.

"He wasn't that bad," Noah said as he came into the kitchen with a bin of dirty breakfast dishes. "A little quiet at first, but then again," he smiled at me and ruffled my hair, "so were you."

I swatted his arm away and shot him a look as he laughed. Thankfully, Allie came to my rescue and defended me.

"Sophie didn't seem like she was watching everyone, though."

"No, she just watched the ground," Rachel teased. She shook her head and laughed.

"The ground is still scarred for life," Kyle chimed in with a chuckle of his own.

"Great, thanks, all of you," I said sarcastically. Constantly being teased was something I was slowly starting to get used to. I was more than aware by now that no one here meant it to be mean. It was just how they behaved. In fact, their teasing was practically a show of affection. Now that I knew that and was becoming accustomed to it, I didn't feel as nervous or angry by it. But that was just a small group of people that I had happened to befriend. The rest of the world was a greater challenge.

"But I mean it," Rachel went on, "he'd better pay us if he puts us in his next book. I'm betting Noah's going to be the main character from how badly the guy was just chewing his ear off."

"Really?" I asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk as I looked at Noah. "What does he like you so much for?"

"Thanks, Sophie, really," Noah chuckled, as Rachel and Allie snorted with laughter. "I'm actually a little surprised he didn't try to talk to you. You're the one who isn't from here."

"Neither is he. Lots of people come through here from other places."

"But you aren't just coming through," Noah argued. "You live here and work here." He shrugged. "He did ask a little about you, though. Don't worry, I didn't give him any details."

"Then what did you tell him?" I asked curiously, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms.

"How much I like you," Noah grinned, reaching out and tugging me towards him by my apron.

"Oh, gosh, I'm going to be _sick,_ " Rachel declared with a groan as she began making retching noises and Allie giggled.

"They're sweet. Leave them alone," she told Rachel.

"They're _sickening_ ," she argued with a laugh.

Ignoring her, I looked up at Noah with a faint smile. "You really like me that much, huh?"

"Of course I do," he whispered. He studied my face for a second before leaning in and giving me a quick kiss before pulling back as Martha entered the room, clucking her tongue.

"I was wondering where half the staff went," she said. "Rachel, enough of that nonsense," she added, shooting a look at Rachel, who was still pretending to gag over me and Noah.

"Sorry, Martha," Noah said politely, grabbing the now empty dish bin. "We'll get right back to work." He smiled and patted her arm on his way past her.

"Stopping kissing up to the boss!" Rachel called after him. Noah gave her a smile and a sarcastic wave in response.

"It's not Noah's fault he's so charming," Kyle piped up, sliding a couple of finished dishes down the counter towards Rachel. "Now, listen to Martha and bring the guests their food." He grinned cheekily as Rachel made a face at him. I smiled slightly, getting the feeling that if Martha wasn't around, a rude hand gesture would have accompanied the dirty look.

"You're such a pain, Kyle," Rachel told him, snatching up the two plates, spinning on her heel, and marching from the room.

* * *

My shift ended at five o'clock that night and by the time I was finished for the day, I was dying to get off my feet. It was no different than any other day, really. I headed straight upstairs, showered, put on a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants, and then went into the kitchen. Martha had made her famous chicken pot pie earlier that day and I couldn't wait to heat some up and relax.

By the time I was just about done, I heard a knock on the door that lead back down to the kitchen. I frowned slightly as I headed over to open it. Only employees of the Leaky Cauldron had access to the stairs, so it had to be a worker. Tom and Martha obviously didn't have to knock to enter their own flat.

"Who is it?" I asked, when I neared the door. I put my hand on the knob and pressed my ear against the wood.

"The big bad wolf," Noah's voice said from the other side.

Smiling, I opened the door and looked at him. He was casually leaning against the doorframe and grinning at me.

"You know about the big bad wolf?" I asked. "Isn't that a Muggle thing?"

"I took Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. We did a lesson on Muggle children's tales."

"What a coincidence. So did I," I answered with a smile. "Your shift's over already?"

"Six o'clock," Noah said happily. "The fate of all those dirty tables is now in the hands of the other two busboys. Personally, I don't think they're as capable as the two of us, but..." He trailed off and shrugged before grinning at me.

"I was just heating up some of Martha's chicken pot pie for dinner," I said. "Did you...want to come in and have some?"

"You never have to ask me if I want some of Martha's chicken pot pie because the answer is always yes," he answered. "As long as it's okay with you, I'd love some."

"I'd like the company actually," I said, stepping aside and letting him in.

"Really?" Noah asked, looking at me in slight surprise. "I'm surprised to hear you say that."

I looked up at him. "It's not that I don't like people, Noah. I'm just not good at trusting them. But you...you I happen to both like _and_ trust."

"I'm flattered," he whispered, taking a step closer. "I happen to like you, too. A lot."

I chewed on my lip as I studied his face. I could tell he wanted to kiss me-and I mean _really_ kiss me. Usually, he just kept it to quick kisses, either on the cheek or the lips, but they were always quick. I knew he was doing it for my benefit because he didn't want to push me and I appreciated it. It was respectful and considerate-a few traits that could be hard to come by. And a lot of times moving into anything more than those quick kisses scared me, which was another reason I was grateful that Noah didn't push me. But at the same time, I _wanted_ to kiss him, too. And I felt guilty that he was always the one to initiate it and that even then, he had a habit of trying to gauge my reaction first, as if silently asking for permission. I felt as if it wasn't fair to him, but at the same time, I didn't want to feel guilty for allowing us to take this at a pace I was comfortable with. I deserved that, didn't I?

As we stood there, in the doorway to the kitchen, I made a split second decision and leaned up on my tiptoes to kiss him. It was quick, but surprisingly not as quick as the ones he usually gave me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I know I'm not-this isn't-this relationship isn't exactly normal. I'm not very...good at this. I'm sorry if you feel as if we're taking this...too slow."

Noah stared down at me before taking my chin between his thumb and index finger and tilting my head up. "Ultimately, I want to do what you're comfortable with," he said. "I don't want to frighten you or hurt you. Those are the _last_ things I want to do. Trust me. But I also really do want to just..." He let a puff of air out of his mouth.

"I really don't know what I'm doing, Noah," I muttered. "Dating was never really something I did."

"I know that," he said. "And do you think I care?"

I smiled and shook my head.

"Then try not to be so insecure," he said with a smile of his own. He slid a hand around my hip to the small of my back. "And try to relax."

I took in a slow breath to calm my pounding heart as Noah leaned in again, pressing his lips to mine. Slowly, slowly, slowly. He pulled back for a second before going in again, gently backing me up against the doorframe.

With every second that passed, I wasn't as nervous anymore. My heart was still racing and my stomach was still flipping around, but it didn't feel _bad_ , like typical nervousness usually felt. And my mind was oddly blank.

"You okay?" Noah breathed, pulling away slightly again.

"Mhm," I whispered, nodding my head slightly and keeping my eyes closed.

Noah kissed me again and I felt one of his hands leave my hip and start traveling further up my back, under my sweatshirt and closer and closer to those hideous red scars.

My eyes flew open and I quickly pulled away with a gasp. "Stop," I said quickly.

And he did. His own eyes flew open in alarm and he let go of me, stepping back and blinking at me. "Sorry," he said. "I started going to fast. Lost myself there for a second." He gave me a sheepish smile. "You okay?"

I felt my body relax as the tension left me. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Noah said with a tiny, sad smile.

For a moment, as he and I looked at each other, I genuinely considered telling him about the scars on my back. I wanted make sure he knew this was all me and that it had nothing to do with him or anything he'd done. I knew that sounded like a cliché-one of those _it's not you, it's me_ lines-but it was true. I felt as if I needed to make sure he knew that this was all _me_.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for either," I finally said. "I'm just-"

"You're fine," he whispered, his voice quiet, but firm. "You're completely fine." He smiled again and tilted his head towards the chicken pot pie. "You ready to eat?"

I nodded and quickly got to work putting together two dishes of Martha's chicken pot pie. We ate at the kitchen table and Noah even helped me wash the dishes. We talked and joked with each other, laughing and acting as if nothing tense or awkward had happened earlier.

The two of us ended up falling asleep on the couch sometime after dinner. I'd barely remembered resting my head against Noah's shoulder and him wrapping his arms around me and pulling my legs onto his lap. The next thing I knew, Tom and Martha had returned from closing up downstairs and Martha was gently shaking us awake.

"I didn't mean to stay this late," Noah said guiltily, his voice groggy as he stretched his arms over his head. "Sorry, Martha."

"You know you're always welcome here," Martha answered. "I just don't want your poor mother to worry."

Noah smiled as he stood up, helping me to my feet as well. "I'll probably see you tomorrow at some point, yeah?" he asked. "I know it's your day off, but I'm sure you'll be around."

"Of course," I answered with a smile as I walked Noah to the door. "Thanks for coming over."

He leaned in and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to my forehead as I closed my eyes and sighed.

"See you tomorrow," he whispered, pulling away and giving me a lazy smile. I smiled back and waved as he turned and walked down the stair. I waited until he'd reached the bottom, gone around the corner and until I heard the back door open and shut behind him before I started to shut the door to the flat.

"Don't bother," Tom stopped me, appearing form the kitchen. "I've got to go lock the back door behind him."

"Sorry that he stayed so late," I said.

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Martha and I trust Noah. He's a great kid. Polite, respectful, a hard worker...He's like family." He smiled a bit awkwardly. "As long as he keeps that up and continues treating _you_ right, we have no issues with him."

I smiled. " _Everyone_ here has been treating me _wonderfully_ ," I said.

Tom smiled slightly and gave me a tiny nod. "Go on, get some sleep," he urged.

Stifling a yawn, I complied and left the entryway, heading down the hallway for my warm, comfortable bed.

* * *

I didn't end up running into Noah the next day, because I had found myself being invited back to the Burrow. It'd been a few weeks since I'd been there, and a few days since I'd seen or talked to the twins as well. They'd been swamped with people who had been in Diagon Alley getting started on their back to school shopping. But now that the first day of school was coming up in a few days, they were expecting things to slow down a bit soon.

All of the usual group of people were visiting the Burrow for dinner, except I was also surprised to see Angelina and Oliver there as well, talking to two other people-a girl and a guy-that I hadn't met before.

"Shut up," Fred said, surprising me by actually smirking slightly when he saw my look of surprise as we walked into the backyard. He sighed heavily. "Whether I like it or not, they _are_ friends of ours. The whole group of us were _really_ close at school. Me, George, Angelina, Katie, Alicia and Lee-they're the two talking to Angelina and Oliver. We were all on the Quidditch team together. Except Lee, but he always commentated the matches." He stared off at Angelina and Oliver. "I planned on marrying her one day," he murmured. "And then I had to go put a wrench in it all by falling apart."

"It is _not_ your fault," I insisted. "Remember what Elizabeth said in the diary? Some things are simply out of our control."

"What if it's your entire _life_ that's out of your control?" Fred asked quietly, tearing his eyes away from Angelina and Oliver to look at me.

I smiled wearily at him. "I know how you feel. Believe me."

Fred gave me a smile in return and reached out and gave my hand a squeeze.

"You going to be okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "Just...don't leave me alone with them."

I raised an eyebrow at him and he gave me a wry smile. "I'll contain myself. I promise. If I didn't, surely Mum would have my head."

Not long after, I found myself officially meeting Alicia and Lee, who both greeted me warmly. Lee even not-so-subtly wiggled his eyebrows at Fred after being introduced to me. Fred had scowled at him in return and given him a shove.

"Knock it off," he said. "Sophie and I are just friends. She's taken anyway."

"Sort of," I added with a shrug.

"What do you mean _sort of_?" Fred asked in surprise. "You and Noah _are_ together, aren't you?"

"Sort of," I repeated, looking down and blushing. "We both...like each other."

"I've seen him kiss you," Fred pointed out. "And hold your hand. When we've been out on the weekends...What exactly would you call that if it's not dating?"

"Yeah, I-suppose we are together," I answered. "I just-I had wanted to take it slow. And Noah's been respecting that."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Fred said. "Ever the perfect gentleman."

"Isn't that good?" I asked, peering up at him.

Lee let out a loud snort. When I raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. "Fred and George have always walked the line between gentlemen and complete _imps_. They can be charming and chivalrous when they want to be, but they're both bloody impatient. In all my years of knowing them, I've never seen them take anything slow. Especially Fred."

"You make me out to be such an animal," Fred said.

"If the shoe fits," Lee quipped, before heading off to the house for another drink.

"Ignore him," Fred said, turning to me and shaking his head.

I simply stared back up at him, chewing on my lip. Sometimes I really couldn't make sense of Fred at all. I'd experienced a side of him that was kind and gentle and chivalrous and I'd also experienced his funny, prankster side. But that was the thing. I wasn't sure I'd witnessed the full extent of it. And I'd only known him since _after_ Percy had died. I had no idea what he'd been like before or just how wild he'd been. And how much had he changed? Part of me kept wondering about how good of a fit he'd be for someone like me-even as just friends.

As of right now, I was still jumpy and still didn't always like being touched-especially on my back where my scars were. I still wasn't a fan of noise and pranks and jokes could be a sore subject. But the thing was that ever since hanging around with Fred and George, I'd noticed a change. I was _less_ of all those things. I'd even been able to start making jokes with them and my other friends myself. Lots of noise and chatter didn't bother me much anymore. I wasn't overwhelmed by their joke shop anymore. I didn't mind being touched as much anymore-although anything too sudden or too close to my back was an issue. I was still a bit paranoid and on edge, but hardly as much as when I'd first arrived. My thick, closed off exterior was giving way to reveal the person I really was-the person I'd long since lost over the years. It was like I was getting reacquainted with myself.

That being said, if the same thing was potentially happening to Fred, what would happen in the instance the person he used to be started coming out and crossed paths with the ever fading person I was now? This wasn't an overnight process and if he started acting like the impatient, incredibly blunt, impish-as Lee had described him-person he once was, would it freak out the terrified, jumpy person I was now?

I supposed that had been part of Rachel's worry all along. Besides her concern that Fred was using me to be able to somehow get his old life back, I supposed she worried about the fact that he was _so different_ from me. But was he? As my walls had began to melt away in the months since I'd come here, I was beginning to wonder if the person I really was wasn't so different from Fred after all. I was beginning to wonder if the person I really was was in fact someone who, to an extent, could handle his jokes and maybe even keep up with him.

"You okay?" Fred asked now, bringing me out of my trance.

I nodded. "Yeah, fine."

"Lee doesn't know what he's talking about," Fred went on.

"Doesn't he?" I asked. "He probably knows you really well."

"So does George. In fact, he probably knows me better."

"He's your brother."

"Exactly," Fred said slowly. He paused. "What are you even trying to say?" he finally asked, an expression of frustration and almost a little bit of hurt crossing his face. "That George won't point out anything negative about me because he's family? Because I'll have you know that you've got it all wrong. George will be the _first_ person to be honest with you about me. In fact, no one in my family has ever been the type to hold back."

"I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head and looking away.

"No, none of that," Fred said, grabbing my arm-gently, I noticed-and pulling me to face him. "Talk to me. I know it makes you uncomfortable, but... _please_."

I looked up at him and studied his face. "I don't know who I am, Fred," I finally whispered. "My life has been so abnormal for so long that I don't think I'm the person I was supposed to be. The person I could have been if essentially my entire life hadn't happened the way it had. Coming here and making friends, having a normal life...it brings out the parts of me I was missing out on. I'm starting to look and feel like a regular person. But I can't just _erase_ everything that happened and I can't erase how it's impacted me. I'm still jumpy and paranoid and scared. I'm still quiet and withdrawn about a lot. I still get embarrassed easily and I still don't like to be the center of attention."

"Okay," Fred said slowly. "What does this have to do with what Lee said?"

"I don't know how you were before Percy died," I said. "George does. Lee does. Everyone here does. But I don't. Not really. And all I keep getting are these little snippets of how you used to be. And despite the fact that I know you're a kind, caring person...and even though I want you to be as much as the person you once were as possible, I get scared because sometimes I think that person wouldn't mesh well with the person _I_ currently am."

"But you just said you'd noticed a difference in yourself since you'd come here, yeah?" Fred asked. "A slow one, but a difference nonetheless."

"But what happens if the person you once were crosses paths with the person I currently am?"

"I'm really not some kind of animal, Soph," Fred said, raising an eyebrow at me. "I mean, sure, George and I were..." He let a puff of air out of his mouth. "Loud. Disruptive. We caused a _lot_ of trouble. We caused some of the most trouble a lot of the teachers had ever seen. But it was good trouble."

"Good trouble," I repeated, looking up at him in mild amusement.

"We're not bad people," he went on. "You know that. The kindness you claim I showed you...it's always been part of who I am. I wasn't some kind of insolent jerk that suddenly got _nicer_ once Percy died. If anything, I was meaner. You know that. So that means this _kindness_ you speak of had to have always been there." He gave me a tiny, tight-lipped smile as I let out a giggle.

"There's a part of me that's really curious," I said. "I've yet to hear the story about the day you left school. And I actually _want_ to hear it. I want to know about who you used to be, Fred. From _you_."

He stared at me wordlessly for a moment. "You say you don't know who you are," he finally said, "but if you want my opinion, I think that you're the kind of person who would have fit in just fine with us at Hogwarts."

I looked up at him and smiled. "How can you possibly know that? You haven't known me very long."

"And yet I've seen a pretty impressive sense of humor make an appearance on more than one occasion," he said. "Once you got over staring at George and I as if we were nuts, of course."

"You are nuts," I told him.

"See?" Fred chuckled, poking me with a finger. His expression became solemn. "The teasing you experienced at school was _mean_. You knew that. And the fact that it was constant put you on edge. It made you afraid of any form of teasing whatsoever. It put you on guard. But deep down, you know the difference between bullying and teasing simply in jest. You _have_ a sense of a humor, Soph. It's there. And once you knew that the people here weren't ever going to make fun of you...that's when you started to relax and show it off. Like you said...since you've arrived here, the best parts of you have been coming out. The parts of you that you missed out on. The parts that weren't stored away, deep inside of you, surrounded by a brick wall."

"Thanks, Fred," I whispered, blinking up at him. He was right. And he agreed with what I'd said about coming here starting to change me. If someone else was noticing it, then it couldn't possibly be all in my head. I was different. I was slowly figuring out who I was and becoming less lost. But I still had a long way to go.

"So...what are you doing Saturday night?" Fred asked. "I know it's still essentially a week way, but I figured I had to ask before Rachel or Noah got to you."

"I work until eight," I said. "Why?"

"I think it's time I told you about the day George and I left school," Fred said with a grin.

I smiled back at him. "I'd like that."

And I meant it.


	19. Chapter 19

The beginning of the week started as normally as ever. I woke up and went to work, like always. Listened to Rachel, Allie and Kayla complain about some of the more difficult guests, as always. And I spent my lunch breaks with Noah, like I had been.

He seemed to have gotten slightly more touchy-feely since Saturday night. Not terribly so, but he'd brush his hand along my leg or my waist when we were sitting together or if he was walking by. I supposed it was kind of nice, but it kind of struck me as a little unlike him. Especially after I'd freaked out on him over the weekend.

"What is up with you lately?" I asked with a slight giggle on Tuesday night. He'd come up behind me close to closing time and wrapped his arms around me from behind. I'd stiffened and jumped but instantly relaxed when I realized it was him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, kissing my cheek. "Shouldn't I be able to hug the girl I'm dating?"

"Are we dating?" I asked. I knew we'd never spoken about anything official, which was probably my fault mainly. It was something I _wanted_ , when I thought about it, but I was also all too comfortable just seeing where things went. I obviously still had issues with being too affectionate. And Noah was always so patient and never pushed the issue, which was incredibly sweet and much appreciated, but it also contributed to making it so easy to stay the way we were.

"I mean, I'd think so at this point," Noah said with a raised eyebrow and a chuckle as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the bottom of my neck.

"Okay, seriously," I said, looking at him in amusement as I pulled away. "What is with you? We _are_ still at work. And besides, you're never usually this pushy."

"You call that pushy?" Noah asked, a look of confusion crossing his face. "Huh."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"Nothing," he responded with a shrug, taking off his apron and tossing it into the basket on the floor.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked. "You seemed a little off yesterday."

All of us had noticed it, actually. He seemed a little more himself today, but the day before, he _had_ seemed a bit distracted. Usually he did his job almost effortlessly. He was quick and efficient. But yesterday he seemed out of it and a little slower. And he'd seemed quieter, too.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah...just feeling a little under the weather," he said.

"You think you're coming down with something?" I frowned up at him. "Maybe you should take a day or two off."

"Nah, I'll be fine." His usual charming smile was back on his face. "Thanks for being so concerned about me, though. It's appreciated."

"Yeah, of course," I said slowly.

"Hey, so Saturday night, I was thinking we could go out to dinner or something."

I gave him a sad smile. "That sounds great, but I already made plans."

"With Rachel?"

"No, with Fred."

"Fred?" Noah asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Yeah, why do you seem so surprised? You know I spend time with him."

"I guess I didn't realize how much. Don't you think it's a little odd?"

"Does it bother you?" I asked quietly.

Noah just shrugged. "I'm just saying...It's not encouraging that you spend so much time with another guy."

"I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a disloyal person, Noah," I said.

"I don't want you to go," Noah demanded.

"What?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up. I may not have known Noah all that long, but something like this was one of the last things I'd expect him to say or do. It never seemed like being demanding was in his nature. I mean, he wouldn't even kill insects for Merlin's sake.

Noah blinked and suddenly began to backtrack. "I mean, I don't think you should go."

"I've already said yes," I told him.

"Sophie, please," Noah said, making a pouting face at me.

I stared up at him with a slight frown. It stung that he suddenly didn't seem to trust me or my relationship with Fred. Had he felt this way all along and was just saying something now? Or was this all recent? Noah had never once struck me as the person to even be so blunt about things that bothered him, so this whole thing wasn't sitting right with me.

When he reached out to take my hand, I slid it out of his grasp. "Noah..." I began. "Fred and I-we're friends. And if-if you don't..." I swallowed as I tried to get out the words to describe what I was feeling. I didn't want to upset Noah, but I also didn't want to have to give up my relationship with Fred. I didn't think it was fair or right of Noah to ask.

"If I don't what?" Noah asked.

"If you don't trust me," I said, "then that's almost a problem, isn't it?"

Noah was quiet for a moment. "I guess it is," he finally said. Then, he shook his head and sighed. "See you tomorrow, Sophie."

And then he was gone.

* * *

"Something's wrong with Noah."

I hissed my opinion to Rachel, Allie and Kayla the next morning as we were getting ready to start working. Martha and Kyle were busy doing prep work and Noah wasn't arriving until a few hours later, which was why I wanted to talk to the girls now, before things got busy and Noah showed up.

"What do you mean something's wrong with him?" Rachel asked. "Wrong how?"

"He was acting really weird the other day, remember?" I began.

"People have off days, Sophie," Kayla said. "Even Noah."

"Let me finish," I said. "Yesterday seemed normal up until the end of the day, when he and I were closing. He seemed really...affectionate. More so than usual. He's always been almost overly cautious because he knows how I am. But yesterday it almost felt like he was-"

"Losing control?" Kayla asked with a raised eyebrow. "It's normal, Soph. He's a human being with emotions and hormones and all that good stuff. And he likes you."

"Kayla's right," Rachel added. "It's great that he's respectful, and that's how it should be, but sometimes it's just hard to help."

I sighed and looked away for a second as I thought about that. "Well, in any case, after that he asked me if I wanted to go to dinner on Saturday and when I told him I had plans with Fred, he got upset. He demanded that I not go."

"Again, Soph," Rachel said gently, "he _likes_ you."

"But he should trust me!" I said.

"He does," Rachel insisted. "But sometimes it's hard to keep doubts away. Especially about someone as impulsive as Fred can be. I know you feel he's been good to you and I know he's a good guy overall, but he _is_ impulsive."

I turned to look at her. "Okay, but if anything, he's still hung up on Angelina."

"I believe that," Rachel agreed. She smiled slightly. "He really loved her. Or maybe still loves her. I don't know. But that doesn't mean he can't get attached to you if he feels you've been some kind of...light in the dark for him."

"I thought you felt he was using me," I said.

"I did think that," Rachel said. "But remember how you mentioned some of the stuff this Elizabeth girl from the diary feels relates to things Fred is feeling as well? You sharing it with him has probably been helping him. _You've_ been helping him. And I've seen the two of you together. Fred's been out with us a few times now. I think you've sort of become a comfort to him."

"Okay, so say that's true," I said, "that doesn't mean there's a romantic relationship happening here."

"I know, I'm just trying to explain why Noah would start to feel a little more confused and threatened. You barely want to be touched, you won't let him snog you senseless, and you're becoming increasingly close with Fred. Of course Noah's going to be on edge. I know you have your reasons and I know you're a good person. So does Noah. But..." She trailed off and shrugged.

"But you shouldn't be so paranoid," Kayla finished bluntly. "Things with Noah will work out. I'll bet you anything he'll be in a better mood today."

"I still don't think he should've demanded I not see Fred. Not the way he did," I said. "He could've been more...expressive about how he felt."

"Come on, when are guys _ever_ expressive about how they feel?" Kayla snorted.

"Just talk to him when he comes in," Rachel advised gently. "Things will be fine. Don't worry."

* * *

Things were not fine. Once Noah came in for work, he actually gave me the cold shoulder all afternoon. At Rachel's encouragement, I tried to talk to him a few times during our shift, but he refused to talk to me. Once I told Rachel, she had frowned and then went to talk to him herself.

"Okay, something _is_ wrong with Noah," she announced, her voice a hiss as she came back into the kitchen.

"Not you too," Kayla sighed.

"I just tried to talk to him about Sophie and he said he doesn't want her to see Fred anymore and I asked why he wouldn't even talk to her about it and why he was being so _cold_. I told him it wasn't like him to be that way. I told him he was better than that. And he said that being nice wasn't going to help him." She turned to me. "He said that if he wanted you to listen to him, he needed to be a little more stern and less of a _pushover_. His word."

"Well," Kayla said slowly. "He has always been extremely nice."

"But he's not exactly a pushover," Rachel said. "He stands up for himself. He's not afraid to say what he's feeling. He's just really thoughtful and considerate about it. I don't know. I see what Sophie was saying now. Something's up with him. I hope everything's okay at home with his mom. Or I wonder if something's going on with his dad."

"His dad's pretty much out of the picture, isn't he?" Allie asked.

"Yeah, but he did run off and get himself a nice new family and it was really hard on Noah," Kayla said. "I wonder if his dad tried to contact him or something. Or maybe he's having another kid."

"Or maybe it's me," I said quietly. "Do you think I really upset him that much that he's being too hard on himself?"

"No, of course not," Rachel said reassuringly. "Noah gets why you are the way you are. He's always had the patience of a saint. With everything. I don't even think you could change that."

"Then what's up with him?" I asked.

Before Rachel could say anything, Martha came into the kitchen. "What are you girls whispering about?" she asked with a sigh.

"Sounds like something serious," Kyle said from his spot at the counter. "They've been whispering and frowning and frowning and whispering. I think it's boy drama."

"Honestly," Martha sighed. "Can you please save this discussion for your breaks? Or after work? We have customers..."

"Sorry Martha," Rachel said. "It's just that we think something's wrong with Noah. He's been really off lately. We were just wondering if everything's okay. Have you heard anything?"

"No," Martha said with a slight frown as she thought about her answer. "But if Noah has something personal going on, it's his business whether or not he wants to talk about it. He doesn't need you gossiping about his problems while you're supposed to be working." She looked at us expectantly, her eyebrows raised and her hands on her hips.

"Fair enough," Rachel sighed. She and the girls headed back out into the dining room. I sighed and grabbed a bin of dirty dishes before following them.

While I was out there, I watched Noah out of the corner of my eye. I wished he'd talk to me. All I was going on as reasoning for bus behavior was the speculation I'd gotten from the girls the night before. I wanted to hear Noah's thoughts and opinions and feelings straight from him. But he wouldn't even _look_ at me.

This went on for the rest of the day until only he, Rachel and I were left.

Noah was cleaning up the last table while Rachel and I peered our at him from the kitchen, the dishes already charmed to wash and dry themselves in the large sink beside us.

"I don't know," Rachel sighed as we gazed out at Noah. "He warmed up to me again eventually, laughing and joking as usual. He just didn't want to talk about you. Or _to_ you. It's kind of irritating me. A lot." She frowned. "And you know what else? I saw him eat a turkey sandwich for lunch."

"He's _mostly_ vegetarian," I finally said with a snort. "You told me that. And so did he. Won't eat any meat besides—"

"Sausage links of all things," Rachel said. "He always said Martha just cooked them too perfectly to give up completely."

"Maybe it just got too hard for him to keep up?" I asked.

Rachel shook her head. "He's been doing it for years."

Before I could answer, Noah had turned back for the kitchen. Rachel and I instantly hurried back from the doorway, hustling to make it look like we hadn't been watching from the doorway. When Noah came in, we both only glanced at him but didn't say anything. He emptied his dirty dishes into the sink and charmed them to start washing and drying before turning to us.

"Long day, huh?" He asked pleasantly, turning to me and Rachel with a smile.

"Mm," we both agreed.

Noah stares st us suspiciously for a moment, but he was suddenly distracted by a fly buzzing around his head.

"Ugh, how did this get in here?" he asked. And then he pulled out his wand and aimed it at the fly, zapping it to the ground, lifeless, and then vanishing it.

Rachel and I glanced at each other, open mouthed.

"Have you hit your head?" Rachel suddenly asked him. "That's the only explanation I can think of for how you're acting. You've experienced some kind of head trauma and now your personality is just _off."_

"It's not," Noah said defensively, shaking his head.

"Not entirely," Rachel said. "But something is up."

"Is it something going on at home?" I asked gently. "You know you can talk to us about anything, don't you?"

Noah looked at us, his gaze steely, before his shoulders slumped and he sighed. "It's my mum," he said. "She and I got into a huge argument the other night and she left for a bit. And I haven't seen her since."

"What?" Rachel gasped as my mouth fell open. "That doesn't sound like her! You're all each other has!"

"Exactly!" Noah said, his voice strained. He took in a deep breath. "I'm just... _angry,_ okay? And I've been taking it out on other people. I'm sorry."

"Noah, you have to tell someone! Have you reported it?" I asked.

He nodded his head. "This morning," he whispered.

"Oh, Noah," Rachel sighed sadly. "You should've said something. We're your friends."

"Being at home alone without her...it's so eerie," Noah said, crossing his arms and looking at his shoes, digging the toe of his sneaker into the floor.

"Do you want some company tonight?" Rachel asked.

"That would be great, actually," Noah answered, glancing at me. These past few minutes were actually probably the most he'd looked at me in a day.

Rachel apparently seemed to take the hint. "Sophie will stay with you," she volunteered. When I raised an eyebrow at her, she shot me a look. "Go," she hissed. "You know better than anyone how this feels. You'll be so helpful."

I nodded slightly. As nervous as I was about spending the night with Noah, I knew she was right. I'd never spent an entire night alone with a boy before, but this was different. There was no way Noah could possibly have romance on his mind tonight with all that was going on.

After Rachel left and the kitchen was locked up, I packed a few things into a bag and left a vague note for Tom and Martha. I told them I was staying with Noah for the night due to an emergency and would explain in the morning. And then he and I went back to his place, which was just as empty and eerie as he had said.

"I'm really sorry this happened, Noah," I said quietly, setting my bag down by the front door and looking up at him. He hasn't turned the lights on yet and we were standing there in almost complete darkness. The only light came from the moon shining through the window, only illuminating us slightly. "I know how this feels more than anyone."

"Your mother _left_ you," Noah said bitterly. "Mine wouldn't do that."

I took a step back from him, feeling the sting of his words. _He's angry_ , I reminded myself. _He's hurting. He didn't mean it._

"I never thought my mother would do that either," I said. "Look, you reported her disappearance. That's good. That's the first step in fixing this. People are looking for her. This isn't over yet. It'll be okay."

Noah sighed and reached behind me to flick on the lights. They came on, illuminating the entryway. It made things less eerie, but no less silent.

"You don't know that," he said quietly.

I just looked at him for a moment, unsure of what to say or do to make this better. There was really nothing I _could_ do or say. Besides bring his mother back, which was completely out of my area of expertise. There were professionals for this kind of thing and they were currently out doing their jobs.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up?" I suggested. "I'll make tea."

"That sounds great," Noah sighed. He started to turn away, but then turned back and quickly gave my forehead a gentle kiss. It was the first thing he'd done in the past few days that had felt like our usual relationship.

I gave him a small, sad smile before heading for the kitchen and getting the tea started. As the water in the kettle began heating up, I leaned back against the counter with a sigh.

My brain was practically spinning. Things had almost been moving too fast in the past few days. I didn't know what to think or how to process it. None of it actually seemed real yet. Noah's strange behavior, his mother going missing. And _why_ was she missing? It did seem strange that she would just leave him after a fight. She loved Noah. It seemed so...odd. But then again, my mother had done the same exact thing. And I still didn't know why all these years later. I didn't even know where she was. Any investigating the twins had done since their first attempt kept turning up at dead ends. If she was still alive, which Fred really seemed to think she was, then she did not want to be found. I appreciated the twins' effort, but I was beginning to feel as if it was useless to continue to look.

And that made me wonder if that was going to be another similarity between my mother and Noah's. What if she also didn't want to be found? Part of me found that so impossible, but I still kept thinking of my own experience.

And then there was the worst option at all. That something bad had happened to her. But in that case, what was it? Who had done it? And why? Was it random? Or was it someone she knew?

Feeling I was getting ahead of myself, I closed my eyes and rubbed the back of my neck, taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart and slow my thoughts. A moment later, the kettle was whistling and I started to pour the contents into two mugs. I was putting honey into my own mug of tea when Noah came up beside me and leaned backwards against the counter, just watching me.

"I'm sorry I've been such a horrible person lately," he said. "Do you think you could forgive me?"

I looked up to see him with a comical, exaggerated pout on his face and I smiled slightly. "You don't have to apologize, Noah. You had a good reason."

"It's not an excuse, though," he replied. He swallowed and stepped towards me. "I'm so sorry. About everything."

I turned away from the tea and looked up at him, hardly even daring to breathe as I met his eyes. A second later, he leaned down and kissed me. It wasn't slow or hesitant or even as gentle as he usually was with me. His hands were on my hips and a second later he had me backed against the wall. I actually found myself not minding what was happening at first-in fact I actually liked it. But a moment later, his hands were wandering up my back again and I suddenly needed him to stop.

"Noah," I muttered, trying to squirm away. "Stop...please."

"Why?" he muttered, leaning in to pepper kisses on my collarbone as his hands drifted further up my back.

"I need you to stop. Come on. Just stop, Noah," I said, trying to gently push him away. His hands left my back, but only to grab my wrists and pin them against the wall above my head as he continued to kiss my collarbone.

"Noah," I said, actually feeling on the verge of tears. I couldn't breathe. I needed space. I needed air. "Stop it!" I finally cried, my voice sounding even louder than it was in the empty, quiet house.

Finally, he pulled away and let go of me, looking down at me with a look of mild irritation. I was shaking at this point and I sunk to the floor and buried my head in my hands as I inhaled slowly through my nose, held it, then let it out. Just what Fred had told me to do.

"Damnit, Sophie," Noah said from above me, quietly thudding his fist against the counter.

"I know you're going through a tough time right now," I finally whispered through my tears and without raising my head from my hands. "And I want to be here for you. But I can't just..."

"Get over your fears and _trust_ me?" Noah asked.

"I do trust you," I said, finally raising my head to look at him.

"Not enough," he argued.

I didn't have an answer to that. Instead, I just looked up at him, speechless.

"I'm going to bed," he finally said, his voice low. He grabbed his mug of tea and headed for the stairs with it, leaving me sitting alone on the kitchen floor.

* * *

I ended up making myself comfortable on the living room couch that night. Only after I had continued to sit on the kitchen floor for a bit after Noah left. I couldn't even summon the energy to _move_.

I hated that Noah suddenly seemed angry at everything I was doing. I had admired how patient he was, but it seemed as if I had completely used up every ounce of that much loved patience.

And it was hard for me, too. It wasn't that I didn't _want_ to kiss him. It wasn't that I didn't want him near me. I liked him. I really did. But I couldn't help myself. Once things started heating up, I got scared. It was too much, too fast and too close. I always ended up needing space and _air_. I hated that I was so screwed up, but I couldn't just change it with the snap of my fingers. I was trying and I _was_ getting better. But it apparently wasn't quick enough. And it stung that the person I'd thought would always be gentle and patient with me was starting to become less of those things. I was afraid I'd been wrong to trust him so quickly. Maybe I hadn't known him much at all.

I didn't even know how long I'd sat on the floor before getting up and wandering into the living room, my tea remaining on the kitchen counter and most likely stone cold by now. I grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around myself as I lay down, curled in the fetal position as a few tears actually slipped down my cheeks. I was afraid for Noah and I hated that he was going through this. I hated that he was in so much pain. And I hated that I was causing some of his frustration. But had I really done anything _wrong_ exactly? I was confused and hurt and angry-with myself and with the world.

I debated going upstairs to see if Noah needed anything, but with the way we'd left things, I wasn't sure if he'd even respond. So instead, I curled up even tighter under my blanket, and even though it took me a while, I eventually drifted off to sleep.

What felt like a much needed sleep was interrupted at some point during the night by a loud clap of thunder and a flash of lightning. I bolted upright on the couch, gasping for air as I looked around wildly, my blanket now pooled in my lap. It was still dark, the moonlight streaming through the window. But I had no concept of how late into the night it was. One thing I was fairly sure of, however, was that I'd heard another crash mixed in with the thunder. This one had sounded like it came from the front entryway.

I held my breath as I listened for any other noises. When there were none, except for the sound of rain hitting the roof and the windows, I swung my legs over the side of the couch and pushed myself to a standing position. I crept to the living room door and peeked out into the foyer. No one was there, but the umbrella stand by the door had tipped over and the umbrellas were spilling out onto the floor.

"Noah?" I hissed, my voice hitching slightly. There was no answer. Everything was still.

Wearily, I glanced around at the shadowy, dark room before crossing to the umbrella stand and crouching to start putting them away. Once I was done, I righted the fallen stand and adjusted it where it had been before.

A creak sounded behind me and my heart suddenly jumped into my throat.

"Noah?" I said again, my voice a whisper. I started to turn around, but before I could, arms swiftly and quickly wrapped around me from behind, one arm wrapping around my stomach and the other moving to my throat as I screamed. I saw the glint of metal in the strip of light coming through the window from a street lamp and felt the cool blade of a knife against my throat a second later.

I let out a shriek as I fought against the person behind me. I refused to believe it was Noah, but then who else would it be? And considering my attacker could be _Noah_ of all people made this all the more terrifying.

"Hold _still_ ," a deep voice snarled, pressing the knife into my throat a little harder.

I froze as my insides suddenly felt flooded with ice. That voice. I recognized it, but it wasn't Noah. It was a voice that I'd hoped never to hear again. It was the voice I'd been running from since April. Nearly four and a half months ago now. It was _him_. My foster father. Eric. The man who'd given me the scars on my back that I was so incredibly ashamed of. I wondered if he had done it with the same knife he was now pressing into my neck.

"Where's Noah?" I cried, tears blurring my vision. "What'd you do to him?"

"Hmm, maybe he _ran away._ " Eric's voice was dripping with sarcasm, low and menacing in my ear. "Tell me, how would that make you feel? Angry, perhaps? Betrayed?" I could practically see him sneering. "Now, how do you think _I_ felt when _you_ ran away?"

"What does it matter?" I asked. "You never even liked me. Why would you be angry?"

Eric clucked his tongue. "I'm the one asking the questions here. You should know better than to argue with me. Or have you already forgotten?"

"Trust me, I haven't forgotten _anything._ I'm haunted by it all _every single day_."

"Then you should know to do as I say. For example, when I tell you that you're to come back to Salem with me- _tonight-_ you'll do so without any questions or arguments."

I didn't answer. I had to get away somehow, but if I struggled with him, well, he was the one holding a knife to my throat. I had to get away from him somehow. My wand was lying on the floor not far from my feet. If I could just break away for a second or two, I could grab my wand and defend myself. His knife would be useless then. But I had to figure out how to get him to let go of me first.

"How did you even get here in the first place?" I asked, unable to stop myself. "And how did you find me?" I was genuinely curious, but I was also trying to buy my panicking brain some time to think and trying to give myself a chance to get away. To survive a little bit longer.

"It doesn't concern you." He shifted the knife slightly, just enough for it to catch the light. I scowled at his subtle reminder that he currently had the upper hand. "Now, be a good girl and stop asking questions, stop fighting me, and come along quietly back to Salem. You're going to pick up your wand and you're going to charm one of those umbrellas from that stand into one of those transportation things."

"A Portkey?" I asked.

"Whatever," he growled. He removed his arm from around my waist, instead gripping my upper left arm as tight as possible, keeping the knife at my throat with the other hand. "Go on, pick up your wand."

With a trembling hand, I knelt down and picked my wand up. I now had my one form of defense in my hand, but I knew Eric wasn't stupid. And he was quick. I couldn't just aim blindly or act without thinking. I had one shot at this and I also had a knife at my throat. I couldn't afford to make any hasty decisions.

"Do not even think about trying anything," Eric hissed, almost as if reading my mind. "Or I will not hesitate to kill you."

"I am the one with the _magic wand_ here," I said, unable to stop myself.

In a swift movement, Eric moved the knife to my right arm, quickly using it to slash a painful line halfway between my elbow and shoulder. I let out a cry of pain as I felt the blood start to trickle from it.

"Next it'll be your neck," Eric said, bringing the knife back to my throat. "Now _move_. Towards the umbrella stand."

He forced me to take the few steps forward towards the umbrella stand. I reached out and closed my hand around the handle of one as I gazed out of the window in front of me. It was positioned to the left of the front door and looked out at the rain slicked London street. A street that was currently empty of people. Not that I'd be able to get anyone's attention anyway. Pounding on the window would only get me in trouble.

"Go on, charm the damn thing," Eric said, his voice a growl.

"I can't just...do this unauthorized," I said.

"Do you think I give a damn?" Eric snarled. "Now stop wasting time."

Thunder continued to rumble outside as a flash of lightning lit up the foyer. I stood the umbrella against the wall and aimed my wand at it. My hand was shaking terribly. I was running out of time and I didn't know how to get myself out of this. But I had to. I _had_ to.

I closed my eyes as more thunder rumbled and tears slid down my cheeks, matching the rain that was dripping down the windows. If I did go missing tonight, at least people knew I was here. Rachel did. And Tom and Martha would once they read my note. They'd come to investigate. They'd look for me. But I couldn't take the chance. I couldn't put them in danger. And what were the odds that Eric would keep me alive long enough for me to even be found?

"Do as I say and charm the umbrella," Eric ordered, digging the knife a little deeper into the skin of my neck.

I whimpered in protest.

"Do it!" he yelled, just as there was an extremely loud clap of thunder, almost immediately followed by a bright bolt of lightning. At the same time, the window in front of me shattered, the glass raining down on both of us.

I screamed and turned my head away from the falling glass, at the very least aiming to protect my face from harm. Eric ducked as well and covered his own head, freeing me completely. I saw my opportunity and took it, whirling around and aiming my wand at him.

"Stupefy!" I cried. The spell hit him and he flew backwards into the wall, knocking a picture frame off the wall. It fell to the ground and shattered.

I spun around and looked at the shattered window, the rain pouring in through the empty space now. Had it really gotten hit by lightning? Was that likely? I supposed I should just accept it as a stroke of luck and get myself out. Out of the house and out of London completely. Now that Eric knew where I was, no one was safe, especially me. I had to leave. I had to go back to Tom and Martha's, pack a bag, and get out. They'd be devastated, but I had to do it. I couldn't risk Eric hurting them trying to find me again.

As I was turning to leave, I saw a shadow move from the area at the top of the stairs. I froze.

"Noah?" I asked. Had he been here the whole time? Had he been unconscious? Hurt?

As much as I thought it'd be better to leave without a goodbye and not make this harder than it was, I found myself jogging up the stairs.

"Noah?" I called again.

I went into every room on the top floor. They were all empty and, oddly untouched. Even Noah's room that he had supposedly been in earlier. There was absolutely no sign of life. But I'd sworn I'd seen a shadow. Perhaps it had been my imagination, which was definitely now in overdrive. Or it could have been a trick of the light. Or both.

I stood there, chewing on my lip for a few seconds before rushing down the stairs and out the front door, into the street. I was drenched in a matter of seconds and tears were running down my face again. This was such a mess. Noah and his mother were both gone, Eric had found me, and I had to leave a place I had quickly fallen in love with. And I was leaving a complete disaster behind me, like some kind of human tornado. If everyone here liked me now, they were surely going to hate me by morning.

I ran until I made it to an alleyway a few streets away. From there, I Apparated to a street not far from the Leaky Cauldron. Checking over both shoulders, I let myself inside and ran for the back stairs. I let myself into the flat and headed right for my room, trying to be as silent as possible so that I wouldn't wake Tom and Martha.

My chest was aching with silent sobs and I could feel myself getting more hysterical by the minute as I began to truly process what was happening. Eric was here. He'd found me. My worst fears had come true. I was running away and leaving this place for good. I was going to be homeless again. I was never going to see Rachel, Allie or Kayla again. Or the twins. I was never going to visit the Burrow again. And worst of all, I was leaving behind Tom and Martha, the first parental figures who'd treated me like a daughter in _years_.

And if Eric caught up to me again, he was going to bring me back to Salem, where he'd surely keep me on an even tighter leash than before. Either that or he'd kill me. So no matter what, I was at a loss.

I threw as many clothes as I could into a duffel bag as well as some shoes. I grabbed Elizabeth's diary as well as that mysterious necklace. I grabbed the money I'd saved and kept hidden beneath a loose floorboard. And then I even begrudgingly scribbled a note that I placed beside Buttercup, my pygmy puff, instructing whoever found it to return the adorable little creature to Fred.

I finished stuffing all of my things into my bag and then grabbed the handle, swinging it off my bed. But in my haste, I swung it into a vase of flowers that Martha had put in my room to help brighten it up. The vase smashed to the floor, glass scattering across the floorboards. I groaned as I froze, listening for the sounds of Tom and Martha. I heard nothing, so I bolted from my room and headed for the main door of the flat. I had already yanked open the door and was halfway through it when the lights flicked on.

"Where the _hell_ do you think you're going?"

Tom's voice from behind me was enough to send me into a fresh bout of tears. I hadn't even turned to look at him.

"Sophie?" That was Martha's voice. She was at my side in a second. "Sophie, dear, what's wrong? Why do you have a bag packed? And you're soaked to the bone. What was that crash we heard? And, oh my goodness, you're _bleeding_. Tom, she's bleeding-her arm." She turned back to me, her voice growing more and more worried. "Sophie. Please, talk to us. What happened?"

I couldn't talk. Not at first, anyway. I just sobbed into my hands for what felt like forever.

"You can tell us," she whispered. "That's what we're here for. To protect you. To help you. To keep you safe. You don't have to run. Please don't run."

I lifted my puffy, tear soaked face and looked at her in desperation. "Eric-my foster dad-he's here. He found me. I have to leave in order to protect you." I glanced from Martha, who was gaping at me in horror, to Tom, who's eyes were wide, but his jaw was set. "I know you have guests and customers and a staff to worry about in addition to yourselves. I cannot endanger you. For your sake and my own. I could never live with myself if-"

"No, Sophie, you're staying here. We want to protect you," Martha said. "Tom, tell her not to go _anywhere_ ," she insisted firmly. "Tell her!"

Tom looked at me for a moment longer before swallowing. "You stay in this flat," he said. "You hear me? I'm going to put up extra protective charms around the entire building. Martha, you call the Order at once. Get them over here immediately. And we'll go from there."

"But-" I protested.

"No buts," Tom said, his voice firm. "You were right when you said I have guests and staff members and myself and Martha to worry about protecting. But now we also have you. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let that bastard lay another finger on you. You're _our_ family now. Not that you were ever his..." He set his jaw again and swallowed thickly before tilting his head to the couch. "Put your bag down and stay put."

I stared at him, feeling almost overwhelmed by emotion. He gave me a weak smile before going about performing the charms while Martha ran off to contact the Order-whatever that was.

And as for me, I let my bag drop to the ground, cast a quick drying spell on myself and sunk to the couch as I let Tom's words play over in my head.

 _You're our family now._


	20. Chapter 20

I hadn't lasted very long sitting on the couch before I was up and pacing the room frantically, looking out of the windows every two seconds. Once Tom had finished the protective charms and Martha had contacted everyone involved with this Order of the Phoenix group, they turned their attention to me. Martha all but forced me to drink a cup of tea laced with a few drops of Calming Potion and the effect was almost immediate. I had sunk back down on the couch, but I was still shivering, despite the tea and the fact that I'd dried myself of rain water earlier. And once I was sitting, Tom and Martha began to explain to me what the Order of the Phoenix actually was.

Apparently, it was started by Albus Dumbledore, who had been headmaster of Hogwarts up until his death two years prior. I'd heard of him before. He was one of the most famous wizards in the world. It was actually hard _not_ to hear about him. Anyway, during the first war, he'd started the Order of the Phoenix, which was top secret and created in order to take down Voldemort and his Death Eaters-both times he was in power.

"I've set up the protective charms so that only someone who has been officially inducted into the Order of the Phoenix will be able to access the building," Tom explained. "Absolutely no one else can get in. You're safe."

"How can I be?" I asked. "Eric will find a way to get me. He's already followed me here and tracked me down. He got into Noah's house. He knew I was there."

Tom opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, there was a knock on the door and Order members started arriving, almost all at once. I remained curled up on the couch, trembling, as more and more people came into the flat. I leaned back against the arm of the couch and pulled my blanket tighter around me as I stared out the window.

A tall man in long deep blue robes came in first, followed by a woman in emerald green and black robes. There was a blonde girl with large blue eyes and radish shaped earrings, a taller boy with sandy brown hair, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Harry, and the twins.

Mostly everyone else began by talking to Tom and Martha, asking if everything was alright and what was with the sudden, late night call for the meeting. They looked around with panicked, worried eyes, and I hated the guilt that was still sitting in the pit of my chest, making me feel sick.

Fred and George, however, looked right at me and came over, bypassing everyone else.

"You alright?" Fred asked worriedly, kneeling down in front of the couch I was on. "Did something happen? I can't think of why else we'd all be here right now."

I turned to look at him, tears coming to my eyes again. "He found me," I whispered hoarsely.

"Who did? Your foster father?" Fred asked, glancing at George in horror.

I nodded. "He wanted to take me back to Salem. He had a knife."

"Did he hurt you?" Fred asked, frowning at me in concern.

"My arm..." I answered absentmindedly, gazing down at my arm. "Martha healed it. It's fine now."

I looked up to see Fred gazing at the spot on my arm. My shirt sleeve was ripped and covered with dried blood. I hadn't even changed my clothes after the whole thing. I hadn't even realized or cared that they were dirty. It was so unimportant right now.

"Can I sit with you?" Fred suddenly asked, gesturing with his chin to the couch.

I hesitated for a moment before nodding slightly. Fred stood up and sat next to me, shifting closer and gently adjusting my legs so that they were laying across his lap.

I swallowed thickly, my chest still tight with anxiety and the urge to cry. It was a lot better after the calming potion that Martha had put in my tea, but it was still there, nonetheless. I looked up and met Fred's eyes.

"I'm scared, Fred. I just barely got away. He got into Noah's house. And Noah _and_ his mother are missing."

"What?" Fred asked. "Since when?"

"Noah since tonight and his mother since the weekend."

Before Fred could answer, we were interrupted by the tall man in the deep blue robes. "We know about Julie Thompson," he said. "Noah himself reported it."

"I know, he told me," I whispered.

The man held out his hand to me. "Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said. "Current Minister of Magic and member of the Order of the Phoenix."

I blinked up at him. So this was the Minister of Magic? The man Fred, George, Harry and Ron has gone to in order to help find information about my birth mom.

"Sophie McConnell," I said, reaching out to shake his hand. His grip was gentle—more so than I'd imagined.

"I've heard a little bit about you," Kingsley said, taking a seat in the chair adjacent to the couch I was on. The rest of the people in the room began to gather around and take seats as well.

I nodded. "Fred told me he went to you for help about my mother."

Kingsley nodded. "I'm going to need a detailed account of what happened to you tonight," he said. "But in order to do that, I believe you're going to have to also give me a full account of just exactly who you are and where you came from."

I stiffened instantly. Of course he had _every_ reason to ask for this information. But I hated the thought of giving it. Even Fred and George didn't know _every_ detail.

"I know you're afraid," Fred whispered, "but we can't help you without it. And anything you tell us can help us piece all this together and find Noah and his mother."

"If it weren't for me, Noah and his mother wouldn't even _be_ in this mess," I said hotly. "I should have left a long time ago, but I let myself-"

"You allowed yourself to be _normal_ for once in your life," Fred argued firmly.

"But I'm not normal! My whole life is a mess and I've dragged everyone here into it."

"Everyone here is here by choice," Kingsley said. "I assume Martha and Tom have explained to you what the Order of the Phoenix is? None of us joined without being fully aware of what we were getting into. Everyone who has joined the Order-both times-did so with the intent of fighting an extremely powerful and ruthless wizard. To be frank, we were up against a lot more with him than we are with this one man-"

"Who isn't even magical," Fred interrupted.

"Really?" Kingsley asked in interest. He turned back to me. "That proves my point even more. We have the upper hand here. And we're all here by choice. We chose to join the Order and we chose to take on helping you."

"Why?" I asked. "You're the Minister of Magic. Surely you have more important things to do than help out some girl you know nothing about."

"Well, after tonight, I plan to know a lot," Kingsley said. "Besides, Tom and Martha trust you. They've told me you checked out as safe. They want to protect you. You mean quite a bit to them. And it's also bigger than that. If someone is here attacking people, we need to get to the bottom of it. For not only your safety, but our own. Tell me, do you like your life here?"

"Very much," I said honestly.

"Then it seems as if you like it here, you want to stay here and Tom and Martha and your friends want you to stay. You're one of us, whether you like it or not."

I smiled slightly as I thought for a moment. I pictured my life without Eric in it. Peaceful. Happy. Quiet. I'd be able to focus more on finding my mother if I wanted to. And if I didn't, I'd have a family here, and if I did, I'd still have a family here and I'd still be able to try to rebuild my relationship with her. But I felt as if I needed Eric _gone_ before I could focus on that. I needed him gone to truly be happy. I didn't want to have to resort to running anymore. I didn't want to forfeit any more happiness or freedom or any of the other things he'd deprived me of. And the thing was that I couldn't take him on alone.

Finally, I sighed. "Okay, I'll talk," I said.

"Excellent," Kingsley said. "Before we go on, I'd like to introduce you to some members I don't believe you've met yet." He gestured to the woman in the emerald green robes. "This is Minerva McGonagall, the current headmistress of Hogwarts."

"Nice to meet you, Miss McConnell," she said, nodding her head slightly towards me. She had her hair pulled back into a tight bun and her face was stern, but kind.

"And this," Kingsley went on, gesturing to the tall, sandy haired boy," is Neville Longbottom. He was in Harry and Ron's year at school."

Neville gave me a friendly wave and I smiled before turning my attention to the girl sitting next to him. The girl with the blonde hair and radish earrings. She was currently staring at a plant sitting on an end table beside the couch I was sitting on, lost in thought as she twirled a piece of her hair.

"This is Luna," Ginny said. "I've mentioned her to you before. She's one of my very good friends and the love of Neville's life."

Neville blushed furiously and cleared his throat as I actually let out a breath of laughter.

"What kind of plant is that?" Luna asked curiously.

I turned and looked at the plant with a thoughtful frown. I had no idea, to be honest. I liked it though. It was a relatively small pot of greenery and small red flowers. There were thorns on it though, which I'd learned the hard way after accidentally pricking myself one day. But I still liked the plant. It was pretty.

"It's called a crown of thorns," Neville answered.

"Ah, I thought so," Luna said, nodding. "Those are supposed to be the second most popular plant to find fairies hiding in. After rosebushes. The thorns don't bother them like they do humans."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"No, do _not_ get her started," Ron said firmly as Ginny kicked him in the shin.

"Shut up, Ron," Ginny scolded.

"We have more important things to talk about, don't you think?" Ron answered. "We didn't come here to talk about plants."

"He's right, we didn't," Kingsley said. "I'm sure we can save the discussion on plants and thorns for another time." He cleared his throat as the room fell silent and then he turned to me. "Alright, Sophie, why don't we start from the very beginning."

I took a deep breath, knowing this would mean starting with my mother leaving me when I was little and explaining how I'd ended up in foster care. I rested the side of my head against the couch and slowly exhaled, staring at a point on the wall just over Kingsley's head. It was easier this way-easier to pretend I wasn't talking to a room full of people, some of them strangers.

But I did it. I forced myself to go through the story with them of how my mother and I had been incredibly close until one day, she'd urgently pulled me out of bed and left me in the historic Salem mansion-turned-museum, promising that she'd return, only for her to fail at keeping that promise. I told them about how I bounced from foster home to foster home. I told them about the postcard that I'd gotten from my first foster home, only to finally rip it up once I arrived at my most recent one. I told them about going to school, being constantly teased and made fun of, and how the only friend I'd had had ended up dead, along with my favorite professor. I told them about Andrea and Eric-how Eric was a Muggle and how he'd make us do chores the Muggle way. I told them that he'd occasionally get drunk. I told them how nasty he could really be. I told them how he would use the money he received from being a foster parent on things he wasn't supposed to. .

And then I got to the part about my first escape attempt when I was seventeen. I was of age in the wizarding world, but I wouldn't age out of the foster care system until I was eighteen. I hadn't cared, though. I wanted to run away, but I wanted to get my foster mother out, too. And we'd both gotten caught. Just like I'd mentioned to Fred already, I mentioned how Eric had locked me in my room for a week after that first attempt and then once I was eighteen, he'd made me get a job. I told them how he'd take my wand during the day so that I wouldn't be able to use magic to leave, and that he also kept most of my earnings from work.

"So how did you finally end up getting away?" Kingsley asked.

I took in a shaky breath and glanced over at Tom and Martha. Tom nodded slightly as Martha gave me a reassuring smile.

"This is the hardest part for you to talk about, isn't it?" Fred asked. "What about it made it worse than what you had already gone through? You made it out...and _alive_."

"Fred," Mrs. Weasley scolded. "Don't be insensitive."

"I'm just wondering," Fred said quietly, looking back down at me. "But whatever it is, it's okay, Soph. It's okay. We want to help you." He reached out and took my hand. I closed my eyes and took in another breath as I gave his hand a squeeze.

"Andrea and I tried to plan an escape together. Eric usually kept our wands locked up somewhere in the house, but we weren't sure where. Like I said, he didn't want us ever getting away. He kept out wands and any money we'd ever managed to earn. We had essentially no way of leaving or getting somewhere unless we _walked._ So one night when he was out with his friends—drinking—the two of us pretty much ransacked the whole place. It wasn't much of a thought out plan and it was risky. If he came back and found out what was happening and we were still there...he'd be extra angry because he'd be drunk. We knew he couldn't have hid the wands too extensively because he couldn't use magic himself, so they had to be hidden somewhere without any kind of magical aid. We thought that would make it a _little_ easier."

"But it didn't," Hermione said. "Did you find them that night?"

I shook my head. "No, we didn't. Eventually, Eric came home and we had to make sure everything was back in place and we didn't look the least bit guilty. But the next week, we tried again, and the week after that, and the week after that. We started to think he'd thrown them away and gotten them out of the house completely. But finally, on the fifth Friday of trying, we found them."

"Where were they?" George asked.

"The house we lived in was an old house," I said. "We considered the idea of hiding spaces in floorboards or wall panels or something like that, but either the spots we knew of didn't have what we were looking for, or we'd check for hiding spots in places we didn't know of, but could never find any. But that Friday, we did. In the room Eric used as a study. Not that he ever used it for anything work related. It was more of a room to get away from us or to hang out with his friends at home. There was a desk in there, and bookshelves, and a television—a Muggle form of entertainment."

"Let me guess, the room was usually off limits," Fred said.

"Exactly," I said. "And naturally, it was the first place Andrea and I looked when we started our search that first week. We picked the lock with a hairpin and searched the room from top to bottom with no luck. Until that fifth week. We had been searching for a few hours already that night. I was frustrated and was giving the room a second search, set on the fact that this room was where Eric would have hid the wands. But I was coming up with nothing. So I got angry and kicked the side of the desk—a huge thing made out of dark, shiny wood. A really nice piece of furniture for such a jerk of a man. Anyway, when I kicked the side of the desk, not only was the sound hollow, but the side slid open—like some secret panel. I reached inside and there was metal box—locked, of course. But when I shook it, I heard the rattling sounds of what I knew were two wands. I called Andrea in and we picked the lock on that box. It opened and there they were..."

I trailed off. My voice had been quiet and almost dreamy as I remembered the feeling of pure joy at seeing my wand again. Thinking we were finally going to be free.

"What happened next?" Mrs. Weasley asked gently.

"Eric came home. He was a little bit earlier than usual, only by an hour or so, but it made all the difference. We weren't expecting him. Hell, we didn't even _hear_ him coming. We were too excited over our discovery. But less than a minute after finding our wands—right in the middle of us actually laughing with happiness, we heard the front door slam open. The study was visible from the front door, so Eric managed to see us right away. He started yelling and made a run for us. We couldn't get out of the room without having to run past him, so we tried to Stun him, but both of us were pretty out of practice. _Very_ out of practice, actually. The spells weren't strong enough. We both hit him, but it only caused him to stumble and fall. Andrea grabbed my arm and pulled me past him towards the door. But he reached out and grabbed her ankle. She fell. Her wand slipped from her hand and in Eric's clumsy but quick attempt to right himself enough to pin Andrea down beneath him, he put his foot on it and snapped it. I held up my own wand, but Andrea was fighting him and he was trying to hold her down. They were moving so much and I was so rusty at magic that I was afraid I'd miss and hit Andrea. And then she started screaming at me to run and get out while I had the chance. That she's hold him off and follow me. We had planned to meet at a specific statue located on one of the main streets of Salem in the event we got separated, so she told me to go and that she'd meet me. I didn't want to go—I couldn't. I was afraid to leave her with him. He was drunk and angry and she was defenseless. And that was when I realized I could go for help. I could get the authorities over there and they'd catch Eric hurting her. It would all end and we'd be free. So I ran."

I stopped for a moment and stared absentmindedly at the wall, the memories flooding my brain again. The screams, the yells. Me flinging open the front door and leaving it wide open and banging against the wall as I ran down the brick covered sidewalk.

"I was afraid to try Apparating," I said finally. "For a few reasons. I was afraid of hurting myself, firstly. And also, even though it was past midnight and no one was around, I didn't want to chance being seen performing magic. So I ran on foot. I didn't get very far—only about ten seconds outside of the front door—before Eric had caught up to me and grabbed me. I fell forward onto the ground, skinning my knees and getting the wind knocked out of me. But that was nothing compared to—compared to—"

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Martha suddenly said.

"Martha," Kingsley sighed.

"This is exhausting for her!" Martha exclaimed. "Telling the story alone is hard, but after all that's gone on..."

"No, Kingsley's right," I said, surprising everyone, including myself. "If I want any chance of getting Eric out of my life for good, I have to tell the whole story. I have to stop being so _afraid—_ at least of being a burden to people and depending on them. I can't do this alone and Merlin, I just want to be _free_. Finally. It's been long enough. I want my life back. I want to be who I'm supposed to be. The girl that apparently has a sense of humor and can be sarcastic. The girl who has friends and isn't afraid to trust them. The girl who isn't afraid to have people touch her or kiss her. It'll take some more time, but this is the first step."

The room was quiet for a bit before Fred grinned at me and patted my leg. "I'm glad to hear you say that," he said.

I smiled slightly back at him. And then I continued with the story, my expression solemn once more.

"Eric had me pinned down to the ground, basically kneeling above me, his knees on either side of my hips. I guess he'd gotten a knife at some point. And he used it. On my back." The words came out on a whisper as my mouth suddenly felt dry. "He got me twice-really good, too. I kept struggling and trying to get away. I finally managed to reach my wand and attempt to Stun him again. I don't know how well I got him, but it was enough to get him off of me. And then I just got up and ran the best I could. I ran to an alleyway and realized that I should probably just Apparate. Put as much distance between him and myself as possible. It was the whole reason we'd gone through the trouble of finding our wands in the first place-so we'd be able to use magic. But I wasn't sure where to go. So eventually I Apparated to the woods that bordered Ilvermorny. And I just kept running. But even then, I felt like every snapping twig or rustling leaf was Eric coming after me. At some point I just collapsed on the ground from pain and exhaustion. I fell asleep on the ground. Woke up some time the next day. And then I just kept Apparating to various places. I had a lot of places in mind from books I'd read or from things I'd learned in school. I stuck mostly to secluded areas at first—quiet towns with woods nearby for me to hide in. I went to some beach towns, which were really nice. And then I changed tactics and started doing cities. I figured they were more populated and I could get lost in crowds easier. And if I was ever found by Eric, it would be harder for him to get to me in public. He couldn't very well pull a knife out on me on a busy street."

"You never made it to New York, though?" Fred asked.

I shook my head. "I couldn't. Thought about it, but couldn't. Too weird."

"What's the significance of New York?" Kingsley asked. "You mentioned early on that you and your mother had plans to travel. You wanted to skate there. Is that it?"

I nodded. "Mhm."

"So...nobody every questioned or approached you?" Mr. Weasley asked. "You were hurt and clearly in need of help."

"I did a good job of blending in and staying out of sight. And in the bigger cities, well, I looked—and actually _was—_ homeless. People mostly just ignored me. Some people dropped me change if i was sitting somewhere, but it was all Muggle money and I never got much because I never sat in plain sight all that much. It was mostly alleyways. And as for the cuts on my back, I'd tried to heal those the day after I left, but I couldn't do that great of a job. Not a lot of Healing experience to begin with, plus the fact that I was out of practice with magic. Of course, the back of my shirt was ripped and bloody, but the cuts were healed. Mostly. They weren't open wounds anymore, but they scarred pretty badly. There's two of them. Two lines on the inside of each shoulder blade. Each about eight to ten inches long. Very ugly."

"They're nothing to be ashamed of," Hermione said gently. "Honestly, most of us here have scars of our own."

"Have you _seen_ my face?" Bill asked with a raised eyebrow.

It was true. He had two or three scars trailing diagonally across the length of his face. I had noticed, of course, but actually had thought nothing of it, which was probably the point.

"He was attacked by a werewolf," Fleur said.

"Really?" I asked in surprise.

Bill nodded. "Not on a full moon, which helped. Not much changed for me except the fact that I now enjoy meat more on the rare side. And, of course, my dashing looks." He smiled wryly.

"You're better looking now, that eez the deeference," Fleur said fondly, reaching up to run a hand through his hair as he smiled.

"And, look," Harry added, pushing aside the hair from his forehead, "I've got the most famous scar in the entire room."

My eyes found the unique lightning shape on his forehead, but I didn't say anything.

"I'm willing to bet your scars never gave you nearly as much trouble as mine did," Harry went on.

"And take a look at the left hands of eight of us here," George piped up. He held up his hand, the back of it facing me and I could see small cramped looking scars on his skin. Instinctively, I glanced towards Fred's hand as well and noticed similar markings. He lifted it and held it towards me and I gingerly traced a finger over his skin.

"Are those...words?" I asked. "It looks like multiple sentences layered over each other."

Fred nodded. "George and I were seventh years, Neville, Harry, Ron and Hermione were fifth years, and Luna and Ginny were fourth years. We had this teacher...sent by the Ministry. They refused to believe Voldemort was back, despite Dumbledore's warnings and advice. So they sent this complete monster of a woman to help... _control things_. And her idea of a detention was making students write lines with a quill that writes in your own blood and carves the words into the back of your hand. George and I received quite a few detentions. Told her off quite a bit, refused to do assigned classwork or homework, disturbed the class. She was ruthless. She even gave me a detention when she caught Angelina and I snogging in a broom cupboard. George actually got one for standing too close to Katie, which was even more absurd."

"She was supposed to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts," George went on, "but she wasn't teaching us _anything_ , which was the point and exactly what the Ministry wanted. So a bunch of us took it upon ourselves to learn what we were supposed to learn. Harry was the teacher." He beamed at Harry, who simply shrugged and smiled slightly.

"It was good while it lasted," Fred said. "Seven months, I think. But eventually, we got caught and everyone got a detention for that. So many detentions were assigned to so many people that mostly everyone's hands are now scarred."

I continued to trace my fingers along the back of Fred's hand, lost in thought for a moment. "But these aren't anything to be _ashamed of_ ," I said. "You were all fighting for something and you won in some way or another. All I've been doing is running. I haven't won at all."

"But you're going to," Fred said quietly. "And we're going to help you. And for the record, you _have_ been fighting. You got away from that nutter of a foster father. You kept trying until you did and you've managed to make a pretty normal life for yourself here."

I swallowed and dropped his hand, looking away as I chewed on my lip.

"By the way," Hermione said quietly. "I know what it's like to be ashamed of a scar." She leaned forward and rolled up her left sleeve. I leaned towards her slightly. It was hard to see, but I could make out a scar on her inner forearm. It looked like words again, but different from the ones on everyone's hands. The letters were a bit bigger and sloppier and there seemed to be just one word.

"Mudblood?" I asked. "Is that what it says?"

Hermione nodded. "It's the same term used over in America, yes?"

I nodded. "Did that teacher do that to you, too?"

Hermione shook her head. "One of Voldemort's Death Eaters. She was trying to get information out of me and this was her way of trying to do it."

"Hermione didn't crack, though," Ron said proudly, leaning over to kiss Hermione's temple. Hermione smiled and leaned into his touch as she pulled down her sleeve again.

"It was hard not to," she went on. "And I _hated_ having this on my arm at first. It's already been deemed a very derogatory term and it's hard to break that. But you know what? It's what I am. It's a word-albeit not a civil one-that essentially means Muggle born. And that's what I am. I'm not ashamed of it. Being Muggle born is the reason I always studied so hard in school. And sure, I got made fun of for it, but I always got excellent marks and I'm proud of that. I proved that someone can come from a completely non-magical family and still succeed in a world full of magic. And just because someone decided Mudblood was derogatory and the rest of society went with it, doesn't mean I have to. It means Muggle born and that's what I am." She shrugged.

"How long did it take you to come to terms with all that?" I asked.

"A while," Hermione admitted with a shrug. "And it could take you a while, too. It's not easy. But you don't have to feel damaged just because someone else has decided you are."

"The night Sophie first came here," Martha said, "Tom and I saw the scars. The first thing I thought of were angel wings. They're right in the spots where an angel's wings would be. It looked as if someone had tried to rip out an angel's wings. That's what it reminded me of."

I smiled fondly at her. "You told me you hoped whoever had tried to rip out my wings hadn't succeeded."

"And I don't think they have, dear," Martha said. "You've been through so much and you never had any consistency growing up. This one man who was part of the many people given the chance to raise you did a terrible job at it. And as run down and hopeless as you may feel, you've remained a very sweet, kind, smart and funny girl underneath all that pain. You haven't let anyone take that away from you, no matter how hard they've tried."

My cheeks flushed red and I looked down at my lap as I smiled. It felt so good to hear something like that. Feeling like there was someone that actually truly liked me for me was something I had grown unaccustomed to, but had wanted all my life.

"So, how did you end up here at Tom and Martha's anyway?" Bill asked.

"Well, like I said, I was moving around a lot, but I was nervous and scared and paranoid. I felt like I had to put more distance between me and Salem. London was another place my mother and I had talked about seeing, although not as extensively as New York. New York was number one on our list because of the ice rink. But that was exactly the reason I didn't want to go there when I was on the run. It was confusing. I wanted to still be close to her, but at the same time, I didn't. I still felt confused and angry and at some points I blamed her for the situation I was in. If she hadn't left, I would have never ended up with Eric and Andrea. Anyway, she also had English ancestry. So I felt that this place was not only significant, but far enough away. It reminded me enough of my mother, but not too much. Every reminder of her here was distant and not really...solid. We'd _talked_ of coming here, but we never did. We had ancestors from here, but ages ago. Way down the line. It was a way of being near her, but an arm's length away, all at the same time. If that makes sense."

"She hadn't been here for very long when we finally took her in," Tom said. "Maybe about a week or two. But I caught her in the back alley, searching through the garbage bins for food. She was wearing this dirty, tattered cloak she'd found from somewhere and she was just going through the trash. I scared her away, naturally."

"But she came back," Martha said with a fond smile in my direction. "She liked my cooking."

I giggled, despite the fact that Tom's recollection of just how _pathetic_ I had once been had me feeling slightly nauseas.

"I did like it, actually. A lot. As terrified I had been when I was first caught, I was so hungry..."

"When we caught her the second time, Martha insisted we invite her in," Tom went on. "I was cautious. Perhaps overly so. But for a good reason. So my only condition was that we give her Veritaserum so that we'd know exactly who she was and where she came from. Martha agreed, but it was a nightmare. Sophie did her best to fight it and fight _us._ She didn't want to talk. I understand why now, of course."

"You did the right thing," I said. "You had no reason to trust me."

"In any case, I don't regret any of the decisions I made that night, including the one where I let you stay."

"Thanks, Tom," I said with a smile.

"So then you've been living here since April," Kingsley said, "working for Tom and Martha, making friends, and living the life you always should have had."

"Essentially," I said. "But this still isn't over. I'm clearly still being targeted."

"Exactly," Kingsley said. "Which brings us to tonight. Would you mind explaining what happened?"

"Well, I guess it technically started over the weekend. Noah came over and I got weird about him kissing me. Well, not about that exactly, but he was seconds away from discovering the scars on my back and I got freaked out and stopped him. And he's always been _so_ good about taking it as slow as I wanted and making sure I was comfortable. Believe it or not, there were times when I almost wished he wouldn't be so cautious. But only almost because I couldn't help but get scared every time his hands started to wander up my back. Or if things just seemed to be moving too fast. And I found it really endearing that he was so considerate. That's just who he is. Rachel, Kayla and Allie told me he doesn't even like to kill bugs. But anyway, after that weekend, he started acting funny on Monday. He seemed a bit out of it. Not his usual self. And then later, he—" I broke off and glanced nervously at Fred. "He asked me to go out for dinner this weekend but I told him I'd already made plans with Fred. We were going to go to Hogsmeade. Noah got upset. He said he didn't want me to go."

"Really?" Fred asked in amusement.

"That's funny to you?" I asked.

"No, but it is a bit of an ego boost. If Noah still feels threatened even after I've been a complete mess for the past year, then that means I've still got some charm, yeah?"

"Not particularly," Ginny teased. "Actually, I'd argue that you never had any charm."

"Thanks, Gin," Fred said with a roll of his eyes.

"I told him that I had already said yes and didn't want to cancel," I went on. "He didn't like it. And I hated that he was upset. He'd never been that way and didn't seem like the type to let something like this bother him. And if it did, I would expect him to talk to me about it rationally."

"He was still acting funny the day after, wasn't he?" Martha asked. "Which was yesterday. That was when I caught you and the girls talking about how odd he was acting."

I nodded. "He ignored me and wouldn't talk to me at all. He wouldn't even talk to Rachel at first. When I first told her, Allie and Kayla is weird he was acting, they just said it was normal. That he liked me so much and there was only so much even a patient person could take. But once Rachel tried to talk to him, even she said something was up. We even saw him kill a fly. And then he ended up telling us about his mother. We asked if he needed company for the night and Rachel said I would go. She said I would understand the most, which is true. And I wanted to be there for him. But once we got back to his house, I made tea and he kissed me again. I let him for a bit, but when I stopped him, he was upset again and then accused me of not trusting him enough."

"I find that so strange," Martha said. "I know he's been going through a tough time, but he's suddenly gotten some sharp edges because of it. It doesn't seem like him. Usually he just gets quieter when he's upset. If I remember correctly, that's what his mother said happened when his father left. But then again, he was a kid then and this is huge. He and his mother were close."

"What happened next?" Kingsley asked me gently.

I shrugged. "He went up to bed and eventually I made my way to the living room couch. I fell asleep. And then I woke up to the sound of loud thunder...and another noise. A crash from the entryway. So I went to look and the umbrella stand by the door had tipped over. I was picking it up when I heard a noise from behind me. I thought it was Noah, but before I could turn around, I was grabbed from behind."

"Eric?" Fred asked quietly.

I nodded. "He pressed a knife to my throat. I asked where Noah was and he said maybe he ran away, just as I'd done. I'm not sure if there was any truth to that or not." I shrugged. "Anyway, I tried asking him how he got there and how he found me, but he wouldn't tell me. He just told me I was going to go back to Salem with him. He told me to charm one of the umbrellas into a Portkey. I tried to tell him no and that I was the one with the wand, but that was when he slashed my arm." I nodded down to my torn sleeve, where my skin was now healed beneath it. "He forced me back over to the umbrellas and then there was a big clap of thunder and a flash of lightning and the window next to the door shattered. It was enough to get Eric to let me go and I took the chance to Stun him. And after that...I could have sworn I saw a shadow move from the top of the stairs. I thought it was Noah, so I went to investigate. I looked in every room and there was no sign of life. Even in Noah's bedroom-it looked like he hadn't even been in there. The bed was made and everything. So I just left before Eric would have the chance to wake up. I ran for it until I was a good distance away and used a dark alley to Apparate back here. I packed a bag and tried to run, but I broke a vase and woke Tom and Martha. They stopped me from leaving."

"As they should have," Mrs. Weasley said indignantly. "Where were you planning on going all by yourself?"

"Paris?" Fred asked with a raised eyebrow.

I shot him a look and rolled my eyes. "I don't know...all I knew was that I'd have to keep moving. Like I did before. I had some money now and I thought I'd spend it as wisely as possible until it ran out or I could get another temporary job. And then leave again and find another one. Keep moving. Never stay in one place for too long. That was always my plan. Until I came here."

"You were okay with leaving like that?" Fred asked.

"Of course not," I said. "It broke my heart. But look at what's already happened to Noah and his mother. Because of me! And if anything else happened to any of you-I'd never forgive myself. You shouldn't have to be punished after all the kindness you've shown me."

"None of this is your fault," Mrs. Weasley said gently. " _None of it._ As Martha said earlier, you've taken your horrible circumstances and turned out to be a lovely young lady. You can't be blamed for people around you behaving like-like-"

"Like complete barmpots?" George asked.

"George, honestly," Mrs. Weasley sighed as George shrugged.

"If I hadn't come here-" I began.

"If you hadn't come here," Fred said firmly, "I probably still would have been trying to hold my breath in the Burrow's pond."

"Fred, don't," I said, glaring up at him.

"Don't what?" he said. "Why are you so certain that you've done more harm than good? Why are you so certain that you haven't had that big of an impact?"

"What have I done, Fred?" I asked. "I'm a _mess_. I don't understand how I could have possibly been that much of a help."

"Sharing that diary with me," he began. "It seems simple and I know you originally did it because you were scared for yourself, but that diary...it's like some of my own feelings are there written down on paper. It's helping me cope. And I've explained all this to you before...I saw myself in you when you first got here. Someone who'd been through some messed up shit. Different shit, but shit nonetheless. And you weren't talkative. You wouldn't pressure me and you had no reason to tiptoe around me or have any prior expectations of how I should be acting. Maybe that's another reason why I never really went into detail about how I was and all the pranks I've pulled. I didn't want you to start comparing. But I can see why you'd want to know. You wanted honesty and you wanted it all out on the table. You want to know someone's true colors without any secrets. You want to know what you're getting into when you start growing close to someone. Which is why I decided to tell you about the person I used to be. Starting with the day I left school. And I actually kind of wanted to tell you. I want to be the person I once was. And since you and I have become friends, I've been thinking about the old me quite a bit. All you've been trying to do since you got here is find out who you are and I started to want the same thing for myself. I used to know who I was, but I lost him the day we also lost my brother. And I really want to find him again."

I looked up at him, trying to blink back the tears that were now swimming in my eyes. I didn't know what to say. But luckily, I didn't have to say anything because Kingsley spoke again.

"Fred, you mentioned a diary. What diary?"

I sighed. I hadn't realized just how many details of this story there were and just how many I was now expected to share with a room full of people. Especially the diary. It had been just between me and the twins for the most part, and I almost didn't want to give it up.

"Someone dropped a diary in front of me one day when I was walking home from the joke shop. I thought it was an accident, but when I picked it up and opened the front cover, I noticed it had belonged to a woman named Elizabeth Proctor. She was one of the victims of the Salem Witch Trials."

Everyone in the room was silent as they stared at me. So Fred, George and I took turns explaining how I'd started to read it, then eventually shared it with Fred, then George. We explained the strange woman I'd met in the shop with Rachel and how she'd snuck me that necklace. How we'd asked Bill to test it for curses. How that woman showed up at the joke shop and how Fred and I had tried to talk to her. How she'd dropped the postcard that I was still convinced was the very same one I'd thrown away all those years ago.

"You do realize how lucky you are that the diary isn't cursed, don't you?" Mr. Weasley asked with a frown. "Especially after Ginny was _possessed_ by one. How many times have I told you, Fred, even before what happened to Ginny. Don't trust anything if you-"

"Can't tell where it keeps it's brain, I know," Fred said. "I told Sophie about all of that, including what happened to Ginny."

"I told Fred he didn't have to get involved if he didn't want to," I said. "It was too late for me. I'd already started reading it. Nothing had happened, but I know we still couldn't have been sure."

"Have you had the diary tested as well as the necklace?" Mr. Weasley asked.

I shook my head. "No, we never did."

"How do you know there isn't some less...obvious charm on it?" he asked. "Sure, maybe you haven't been possessed or burned or anything like that, but what if there's some kind of tracking charm on it and that's how Eric found you? Maybe this woman is working for him."

"I've thought of that," I said. "Believe me."

"She wanted to get rid of it at one point," Fred said. "We both got pretty attached to Elizabeth's story, but Sophie started to get scared because of that woman and the necklace and Eric still being out there somewhere. She mentioned wanting to throw the diary off a cliff. But I wouldn't let her. As I've said...it's helped me. Elizabeth felt responsible for the convictions and executions of her neighbors and friends. She felt as if she didn't do enough to help them, even though there was nothing she could have done. She was trying not to blame herself. All she wanted was to be free of all of it. Free of the accusations and that horrible wave of hysteria washing over Salem." He looked at me. She wanted to be free of her guilt, like I do. She wanted to be free of people who would look at her and see someone terrible. Free of people who were out to imprison and then kill her. Like Sophie." He gave me a small smile and I smiled back.

"You haven't found out what happened to her in the end?" Hermione asked curiously.

I shook my head. "We've left off at the entry when she's been in jail for about a month."

The room was quiet for a moment and I knew everyone was trying to process all that I'd told them.

"Okay," Kingsley finally said slowly. "So I think the first step would be to figure out protection. Not only for Sophie, but for everyone else."

"Wouldn't it be safest for Sophie to stay exactly where she is?" Martha asked. "Right here? This man is a Muggle, yes? So he shouldn't even be able to see the Leaky Cauldron. It doesn't appear to anyone who isn't magical."

"You have a point," Kingsley said. "But I don't think we should take any chances. If Eric has been watching Sophie closely, he may have seen her come inside. He may have asked around about where she's staying. He may have asked another witch or wizard about getting in. That is the one flaw of the charms already surrounding this place. If Eric simply saw Sophie come inside and tried to follow her, the building would still seem abandoned and empty. He'd follow her inside and see a completely empty pub. But if someone were to _tell_ him about it..."

"And we shouldn't take that chance," I said. "I'm not willing to do that. It's why I need to leave."

"And we've already established that you shouldn't-you can't," Fred argued. "You can't do this alone and we like having you here."

"You mean _you_ do," I said.

"We all do," Fred corrected me. "You _have_ been good for me, as I've said. And so what? Why is that a bad thing?"

"Because there's still a part of me that's afraid of being _used_. There's a part of me that's afraid anyone showing me any sort of kindness or affection is a joke. And the fact that you own a joke shop doesn't help. And I keep hearing all these things about you that make me worry that you're exactly the type to use me. Plus the fact that you're hurting because you couldn't save your brother..." I trailed off and looked at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry...I know that all sounds _awful_."

"It sounds like you're assuming things about me," Fred said. "And if we've learned anything from Elizabeth's story in the diary, it's that assuming things and making judgements without facts is never the way to go."

I blushed a light pink. He was right. "I'm trying _not to_ ," I said. "Why else do you think I want to hear all about your past from _you_?"

Fred looked at me for a second before nodding slightly.

"What if we kept Sophie at the Burrow?" Mrs. Weasley suggested. "It's out of the way, we have more room to put up all kinds of charms and it won't affect anyone's business. Tom and Martha have the Leaky Cauldron. There's only so much we can do here for protection."

"But I can't let you put up charms all around your house," I said.

Mrs. Weasley shrugged. "We had them up for most of the last war, dear. What's a little while longer?"

"But that's just it-you all thought you were safe and could finally take the spells down." I shook my head. "I don't want the fight for my freedom to affect or cost you yours."

"Will you just stop arguing and let us do this?" Fred asked. "Please?"

"We know Eric must have made you feel like a burden," Hermione said kindly, "and it could take a while to not feel like that anymore. It could take a while to _not_ feel all the things he made you feel. But you'll get there."

"We can't do this without your help," George said quietly.

"I want nothing more to be free of this _monster_ once and for all," I said. "But being here...this is the first time in a long time that I've had a real home with people that actually care about me. If we manage to take down Eric, but someone else gets hurt or killed in the process or if I still _lose_ all of this..." I gestured around the room and shrugged. "Would it even be worth it?"

"Of course it would be," Ginny said. "First of all, we can't _all_ die in the middle of this. You'll still have some of us. Which I know isn't ideal, but you still won't have to worry about not having a home again."

"We can't promise we'll all make it out of this alive," Tom said. "But we're going to try our hardest. And just stop arguing with us about it, for Merlin's sake. You did say you wanted to be free of this man for good, didn't you? Twice now, in fact."

I couldn't help myself-a faint smile lifted up my lips.

"I know how guilt feels," Fred said. "Probably the most out of anyone here. But remember what Elizabeth said in the diary? She said to stand up for the people you love. To be kind to people. And to be kind to yourself. Don't blame yourself for things you can't control. And you said your foster mother said something almost the same when you tried to escape, yeah? There must be some truth to it."

I fiddled with the hem of my shirt as I thought that over. "Okay," I said. "I'll do whatever you think is best. If you think I should go to the Burrow and-" I turned to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, "if you don't mind having me there, as well as charms put up...then I'll go." I looked at Tom and Martha. "But what about work?"

"If you're going to be staying at the Burrow to be out of sight and out of the way, then you'll probably have to discontinue working for now," Kingsley said.

"But-" I protested. "I can't just sit around and be _completely_ useless!"

"You won't be. You _haven't been_ ," Kingsley said. "You gave us an account of what happened with Noah-the best you could. You have us the account of what Eric did to you-recently and as a child. You gave us a description of him so that we know what he looks like. You've helped a great deal and if we need you for anything else, we'll be sure to inform you."

"Okay, but...I'm not afraid to get involved with the dirty work. Just so you all know." I looked around the room, almost as if challenging someone to tell me to stay behind if anything big happened.

Fred actually laughed from beside me. "That's what I like to hear," he said.

I looked at Kingsley. "I'd also like to go to work just for tomorrow," I said. "If that's okay. Just so I can talk to the girls and tell them I'll be leaving for a bit. They've been really good to me. I think they deserve to know and to hear it straight from me."

"I think one more day is a good idea as well," Kingsley said. "It'll give you the opportunity to pack, get your stuff together, and talk to your friends, like you said. Just as long as it's okay with Tom and Martha."

"Of course it's okay!" Martha said.

I chewed on my lip slightly. "Will things be okay for you after that? You'll be short two workers. Me and Noah."

Martha smiled slightly. "We'll figure something out, dear. I don't want you to worry about that on top of everything else."

I nodded. "Okay."

"Okay, so then it's settled then," Kingsley said. "Tomorrow evening, we'll have someone come bring you to the Burrow."

"George and I will do it," Fred said. "We're right down the alley anyway."

"And we're also hoping that by stopping by the Burrow around dinnertime, Mum will invite us to stay," George said with a smirk.

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes. "You don't need an excuse to come by for dinner. You know that. In fact, I wish you did it more often!"

"Only so you can keep an eye on me," Fred told her, shaking his head slightly and giving her a small smile.

"Can you blame a mother for worrying?" she asked with a sigh.

Fred didn't answer right away. "No, I can't," he finally said.

* * *

The next night, I was finishing up my shift at the Leaky Cauldron, as planned. In about ten minutes, Fred and George would be taking me to the Burrow. They were already waiting for me out in the dining room area, sitting at the bar and having a drink or two while they waited for my shift to end.

I'd talked to Rachel, Allie and Kayla earlier, explaining to them what had happened and that I'd be leaving for a while. Naturally, they were horrified at everything that had happened, worried about Noah, and worried about _me_. They all hugged me and promised to come visit at the Burrow when they could.

The mood was different than any other day at work, though. Noah's absence was noticed and with everything else going on, everyone was a lot more solemn and quiet. Even Rachel wasn't her usual bubbly self.

As much as I almost didn't want my shift to end, because it meant it was the start of a whole different routine for me than the one I had become accustomed to, I was glad that it was almost over. The saddened mood of the day had exhausted me even more than being on my feet all day normally did.

Rubbing the back of my neck with one hand and carrying a bag of trash with the other, I headed out to the back alley to throw the bag into one of the cans. Halfway across the alley, though, I noticed a putrid smell and instantly covered my nose with my free hand. What _was_ that? Usually, the trash in the cans was taken care of regularly enough where it never started to smell. At least not _this_ bad. Had someone forgotten? I wasn't sure I would blame them with the chaos of the night before.

I resorted to holding my breath as I approached the trash cans and lifted the lid of one, flinging the bag I was holding into it as quickly as possible. But it was a little less gentle as usual, too and the bin wobbled in place, shifting a bit as it did. And that was when an hand slid out from between the bin and the one beside it, hitting the stone floor with a slap.

My heart practically stopped beating just then. There was someone behind the row of four garbage bins, nestled between them and the brick wall of the next building. And I was afraid that the person wouldn't be alive. Not by the looks of the pale and dirty hand.

Shaking from head to toe, I reached out with both hands to grab two of the bins. A voice in the back of my head was telling me I'd regret this and that I should just go tell Tom or Martha. Or even Kyle. Someone. _Anyone_. But despite my trembling body and my heart that was now pounding quickly, I reached for the bins anyway and quickly yanked them aside.

The rest of the body attached to the hand rolled away from the wall and landed face up. I stumbled backwards a few steps, drawing in a shaky breath as I sunk to my knees, my legs unable to support me anymore.

It was Noah. And he was definitely not alive.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from his pale, dirty, scratched face. He was staring right at me-unseeing-with his eyes wide open. I started to scramble backwards, wanting to scream, but feeling unable to get any air into my lungs. It felt like the world had gone quiet. Nothing or nobody else existed. My ears were ringing, my chest was tight, my stomach was in knots. The smell was suddenly ten times worse. I suddenly found the strength to stand and stumble towards the wall of the Leaky Cauldron as the contents of my stomach came back up. I wrapped my arms around my stomach as I doubled over.

Once I was done, the noise seemed to return to the world full force. I heard the bang of a pot from inside the kitchen at the same time that air seemed to return to my lungs all at once. And I let out a loud scream that was a few minutes delayed, but a scream nonetheless.


	21. Chapter 21

In a matter of seconds after I'd screamed, Kyle came rushing out of the kitchen door to find me crouched on the ground again, struggling to breathe and still shaking.

"Sophie?" He asked, his voice panicked as he crouched down beside me and gently put a hand on my arm. "Sophie, what happened?"

His voice sounded far away, but I forced myself to look up at him. I couldn't even bring myself to speak. Instead, I blinked up at him almost dumbly, hoping he'd just look up and see what was wrong so that I didn't have to explain it myself.

Luckily, my silence forced him to look around and take in the scene to figure out what had me so freaked out. It only took him a second.

"Shit," he muttered, his eyes falling on Noah's body lying across the alley. " _Shit_!"

Martha came running out of the door just then, nearly tripping over the both of us, still knelt by the door. "Kyle? What's going on?"

She noticed what had happened a lot quicker than Kyle had and she covered her mouth as a muffled cry escaped her.

"Go get Tom," Kyle said firmly. When Martha didn't move, her eyes still staring over at Noah and her hands still over her mouth, Kyle looked up at her. "Martha-go!"

In an instant, she'd turned on her heel and raced back into the pub.

"Come on," Kyle said to me, "let's get you out of the doorway." He helped me to my feet and led me over to a stack of crates near the side of the building. I sat down and Kyle kept an arm around my shoulders. I didn't mind, oddly enough.

I did everything I could not to look across the alleyway at Noah. I still felt sick to my stomach. Wobbly, sick, terrified, lightheaded. I could avoid looking over at him all I wanted, but the image was already burned into my mind. His unblinking stare, his pale skin, the dirt that covered his face. The blood dripping from his nose and also from the back of his head. There were marks on his neck as well. It was almost too much to take in.

"Soph, what happened?" Kyle asked me quietly.

I opened and closed my mouth, the words unable to come out. "I don't know," I whispered. "I just...found him!" And then I turned my face into Kyle's chest and started sobbing. He tightened his grip on my shoulders.

"I know," he whispered. "I know. Let it out."

A second later, a burst of noise came from the door. It was Tom, as well as the twins. I suddenly-and oddly-remembered the time Fred had cut through the kitchen to come talk to me out here. Nobody seemed to mind this time around. Understandably.

" _Merlin's beard_!" Tom exclaimed, his eyes going wide as he took in the scene. The twins seemed shocked into silence as well, but Tom recovered first and rounded on me. "Sophie, what _happened_?" he asked, kneeling in front of me. He urgently reached out to grab my hand, but I pulled away and stood up, suddenly feeling like there were too many people that were too close to me. I backed away from everyone, wrapping my arms around myself and trying my best to steady my breathing as I shook my head over and over, refusing to speak.

"Sophie," Kyle said, reaching out for me, but I pulled away.

"You _have_ to tell us what happened!" Tom demanded.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes as another sob escaped my lips.

"Woah, hang on," I heard Fred say, holding up a hand to stop Tom from saying anything else. "Martha's alerting Kingsley and the other Order members, isn't she? Let's have Sophie explain this once and only once." He squeezed by Tom and slowly came to stand in front of me. "Sophie?" he asked, gently taking my hands and lowering them from my face. I let him, but still refused to look up from the ground.

"I have to leave, Fred," I said quickly, hiccuping through my tears as I swiped at my face. "I have to go. I have to get out of here. Enough is enough! I-"

"Absolutely not!" Tom said loudly.

"Tom," Fred said as I flinched.

"No," Tom went on, his volume quieter, but his voice still firm. "Nobody is leaving right now. The only place Sophie is going later is to the Burrow, as planned. But not until Kingsley, the Order, and the magical law enforcement team get here and she talks to them. She can't go anywhere until she gives them a statement about what she found."

Fred turned back to me. "He's right, Soph. You can't just go running off without talking to them. It would look-"

"Like I had something to do with it?" I whispered.

"Well, it wouldn't look _good_ ," Fred said. "Look, we all trust you. I'm pretty sure that even Kingsley trusts you. But if you ran off...it would make other people suspicious. The magical law enforcement department still has their own job to do, you know? They're the ones who typically look into these cases. That's why the department exists. The Minister of Magic can't look into every one personally, you see." He smiled slightly, but there was still not really any humor in it.

I shot him an exasperated look. "Why is he looking into this particular case, then?" I asked.

"Because it has to do with the Order as well," Fred said.

Before I could answer, Martha came back outside. "They're on their way," she said, looking around at everyone. "There were only two or three tables of guests out front, but I've told them there's been a family emergency and that we were shutting down for the night right away. Luckily, they were pretty much finished and didn't put up a fight. In any case, the front is emptied out now."

"Good," Tom said, nodding.

The back door opened again and this time, Rachel, Kayla and Allie rushed outside.

"What's happened?" Rachel asked. "Martha wouldn't tell us anything-she just came up to me and told me there'd been an emergency and we were shutting down right away." She turned and saw me, standing there with my face red, puffy and covered with tears. "Sophie, what's going on?" She started to make her way towards me, but then Allie let out a scream as she noticed Noah's body lying across the alley. Kayla noticed as well and let out a string of curse words as her eyes widened. Rachel whirled around and I saw her mouth drop.

"No!" she cried, clapping her hands to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. She looked around as if she expected one of us to tell her it wasn't true. No one moved. "He's not dead! He's not!" she cried. "He's fine! He's fine...right?" She turned to Martha. "Martha?" she whispered tearfully.

"I'm sorry, Rach," Martha whispered. "I know the two of you were good friends..."

"He's not dead!" Rachel screamed, lunging for Noah, but Tom grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back as she continued to scream and fight him.

I turned away and closed my eyes as I leaned against the wall, resting my head on the cool brick.

"Hey," Fred murmured, reaching out for me, but I pulled away.

A moment later, amidst Rachel's continuing screams, Kingsley arrived with a group of about five wizards from the magical law enforcement department. They immediately went to Noah's body, and began circling it, taking photos and searching for any evidence they could find on site. The back alley of the Leaky Cauldron had become a crime scene.

There were suddenly too many people crowded into that back alley. I felt like my skin was crawling and I was getting overwhelmed by it all again. By the people, by the grief, by the noise.

"Fred..." I muttered. "I've got to get out of here." I felt myself swaying on my feet. Fred reached out and grabbed me as he nodded.

"Okay." He turned to Kingsley. "Kingsley, can I take her inside away from the noise?"

"No," he said. "Keep her out here on scene until we can get statements from everyone."

"I'd just take her in the kitchen where it's quiet," Fred persisted. "She's traumatized-freaking out, actually."

Kingsley glanced at me and his stony, anxious expression softened slightly. He didn't answer right away. Or maybe he did, but I didn't hear it. The chaos and commotion was continuing to buzz around me, but it all felt a million worlds away again. The walls of the alley were closing in on me and I felt claustrophobic and dizzy. The alleyway seemed to spin for a second and then I was falling. Someone's arms grabbed me and that was the last thing I remembered.

* * *

 _I was running through the woods, gasping for air. My feet were bare and covered in scrapes and blood. My shirt was ripped and the slashes on my back stung. My lungs ached and so did my legs, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. Or else he'd get me._

 _Twigs and branches snapped as I ran. Leaves rustled and dirt flew up in the wake of my quickly moving feet. Blood pounded in my ears. I could have sworn I heard footsteps behind me-gaining on me. So I ran faster, ignoring the ache in my lungs. Branches kept snapping, leaves kept rustling and blood kept pounding in my ears. But then every sound seemed to stop as my feet collided with something in my path, pitching me forward onto the ground with a thud and and 'oof' sound that escaped from my mouth. I winced as I rolled over and sat up, looking at what I'd tripped over. When I did, I immediately scurried backwards._

 _Noah's pale, dirty face, stared back at me, his brown eyes unblinking as blood dripped from his nose as well as the scratch on his cheek. There were marks on his neck and blood was pooling on the ground from a spot on the back of his head. Just like in the alleyway. I let out a cry of anguish and tried to stand up to get away from the horrific scene in front of me, but as I did, Noah's hand shot out and grabbed my ankle, pulling me back down. I let out a cry and turned to see that it wasn't Noah anymore, but Eric, holding that gleaming knife and wearing a sneer on his face._

 _"You're next," he said. And then he lunged for me._

 _I screamed._

* * *

I sat bolt upright, screaming and gasping desperately for air.

"Sophie!"

I made out the form of someone moving to my left and sitting on the side of the bed, lightly resting their hand on my own clammy one. I was drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably.

"It was only a nightmare! It's not real, darling, it's not real."

I stared straight ahead until I managed to somewhat get control of my breathing. I closed my eyes as I took in one long, shaky breath after another. And then I finally opened my eyes again and looked up to see Mrs. Weasley sitting beside me.

"You're okay," she whispered, gently placing a hand on my cheek. "You're at the Burrow—in my son, Charlie's old room, in fact."

I swallowed thickly and looked around. The room was average sized, and complete with the bed I was lying in, a dresser, a desk and a window overlooking what appeared to be the front yard. A few photos remained on the dresser and a couple of Quidditch posters hung on the wall. A box in the corner was labeled _Clothes._ Another box on top of it read _Quidditch Gear_.

"I passed out, didn't I?" I asked Mrs. Weasley, my voice hoarse.

"You did," she nodded. "Everyone's been worried. Most of us have been taking it in turns sitting with you. You've been tossing and turning and crying out in your sleep almost the entire time."

"How long have I been out?" I asked in slight horror.

"A day and a half," she said. "It's Friday afternoon."

I groaned and buried my head in my hands. I'd just told everyone the other day how I wasn't afraid to get involved with any of the hard stuff while dealing with Eric, but now I'd gone and fainted and been completely out of it for almost two days! I must have seemed so pathetic.

"Kingsley wanted to speak to you the second you woke up," Mrs. Weasley went on. "I was supposed to alert him, but I think I'll wait a little bit to give you some time...I'm sure you're starving. I'll go make you some lunch, you can eat and then we'll call Kingsley. Is that all right?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "Sure."

"I know this is all too much at once and I know the last thing you want to do right now is talk about what happened," Mrs. Weasley said, "but you have to tell him."

"I know," I answered quietly, nodding my head.

"I'll go fix you something to eat," Mrs. Weasley said softly, giving my hand a squeeze and standing up. "The twins are working, but they'll be around later. Ginny's here, though. I'm sure she'll want to stop in and visit if it's okay with you."

I shrugged again. "Okay."

Mrs. Weasley stared at me a moment before giving me a tiny smile and leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

I actually didn't like being left alone with my own thoughts. Being alone allowed me to picture Noah's lifeless body in my mind. It allowed me to replay the events of the last few days over and over again. But I didn't want to talk about what happened either.

A second later, there was a soft knock on the door. I looked up to see Ginny slowly opening it and peering inside.

"Can I come in?" She asked quietly.

"Sure," I whispered.

Ginny slipped into the room, shut the door behind her and came to sit on the far end of my bed as if she were afraid of getting too close to me and disturbing me.

"How are you?" she asked before grimacing. "Sorry. Stupid question. I know the answer-you must feel like shit." She grimaced a second time. "Sorry-again. For being so blunt. Mum says there must be a catapult inside my head because my thoughts sometimes get flung out without me thinking them through. If that's true, then the twins have the same problem." She cleared her throat. "I've also just been rambling."

I smiled slightly. "It's okay."

"Mum's cooking you quite an impressive lunch downstairs. I hope you're hungry."

"Um...yeah, I am actually," I said, suddenly realizing just how true the statement actually was. As if to prove my point, my stomach let out a loud growl. I blushed and clamped my hands over it as Ginny giggled.

"Don't worry, that won't be an issue anymore once Mum's done cooking."

I looked down at my hands as we sat there in silence for a moment.

"So...have I missed anything in my day and a half of being pathetic?" I asked.

"You're not pathetic," Ginny argued. "You've experienced a traumatic few days."

I shook my head. "I told everyone the other day that I wasn't afraid to help deal with Eric and I meant it. But now I look like I can't even handle—"

"Handle seeing a guy that was not only your friend but someone you were getting involved with romantically lying dead in an alleyway?" Ginny asked. When she saw me flinch she gave me an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Like I said: catapult. No filter. But my point is that this is not something that's _easy_ to deal with. And when you count what happened at Noah's house the other day...it's a lot for one person to take all at once."

"I thought I was stronger than that," I said quietly, staring down at my hands.

Ginny was quiet for a moment. "You must think I'm pretty weak then." When I looked up at her in surprise, she went on. "After Percy died, I didn't sleep for a week. I couldn't get the image of him lying there dead out of my mind. It _haunted_ me. Mum could be heard crying herself to sleep night after night. Wailing actually. It's not a joking matter, but she almost rivaled the ghoul that's in the attic. She didn't even cook for about two weeks straight and she _loves_ cooking. She threw herself into it afterwards as a distraction and wouldn't _stop_ cooking. Dad would stare off into the distance absentmindedly and barely reacted if you mentioned plugs or electricity—he _loves_ Muggle things, especially those two and he wouldn't even react. And this was just all in the first week or two. We've gotten better, but we're still healing. I still sometimes sit there and think... _Percy's really gone. He's actually dead._ And I get angry at the unfairness of it all. So angry I could throw something. Mum still cries sometimes. They haven't gone through any of his old stuff yet. All they've managed to do is pack it in boxes and put it in the shed, and even that took months. Sometimes when dad sits out there, he goes through it. Ron and I once found him just sitting in there holding one of Percy's sweaters that Mum knits for the family every Christmas. He was just sitting there, holding it, tracing his finger over the big, orange P in the center. _P for prat_ , Fred and George used to say."

"Ginny..." I said quietly, unsure of what to say.

"And then Fred...you know what he's gone through. You know how hard he took it. He was in St. Mungo's for a bit afterwards for his dislocated and broken bones. He wasn't there long, but he had such horrible nightmares every night he _was_ there, that the Healers thought something else was happening to him health-wise. They'd all come rushing in when they heard his screams, thinking he was in pain. But he wasn't—at least not physically. Merlin, Sophie, he was trying to _drown_ himself in the pond out back. If you think _you're_ pathetic, what must you think of us?"

"None of you are pathetic or weak," I said firmly. "You've been through something awful and even though it's hard and you still have your moments, you keep picking yourself up and you keep fighting."

"And so do you. That's what you've done your whole life. And you'll do it now. You experienced a loss and you _reacted_. It might stay with you the rest of your life, in fact it _definitely_ will. But you'll pick yourself up and fight. No one blames you for falling down, but we might if you don't get back up." She smiled at me wryly. "That's what strength is. It's not having zero reaction to things, but continuing on in spite of them."

I took in a long, deep breath before letting it out. "You're right," I said.

Ginny smiled wider, but before she could answer, Mrs. Weasley appeared with a tray full of food.

" _Please_ tell me half of this is for Ginny," I said in disbelief.

"You haven't eaten in a day and a half," Mrs. Weasley said. "You need food in your stomach."

She set the tray down and I closed my eyes and sighed as the scent of the food reached my nose. It smelled wonderful, I had to admit.

My stomach let out another growl and despite my initial shock of how much I'd been given, I was suddenly feeling capable of eating it all.

"This is so good, Mrs. Weasley," I said after taking a few bites. "Thanks...really."

"Don't mention it, dear," she said with a smile. After a second, it faded slightly. "How are you feeling?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "Physically, I feel fine. Just a little tired. Emotionally, though-that's another story."

Mrs. Weasley nodded slowly. "I'm sorry you had to see what you saw the other day. It's a terrible feeling, seeing someone you care about..." She trailed off and cleared her throat.

I nodded. "I know."

Mrs. Weasley let me finish my lunch before she cleared the plates away and left to go alert Kingsley that I was awake. Once she'd left the room, I buried my head in my hands and groaned.

"I don't want to do this," I whispered to Ginny. I looked up at her. "You never did answer my question from earlier, though...Have I missed anything?"

"Not really," Ginny said. "Noah's mother is still missing, I know that. Tom and Martha are okay-okay as they can be, at least. Rachel's not. I heard Mum telling Dad. The poor girl's a mess. She's been going to work, but she's acting as if she's dead herself."

"She and Noah were really good friends," I said quietly as my chest ached with sadness. "All through school...She must be devastated. I wish I could be there for her. Although...I wonder if she blames me."

"Did you kill Noah yourself?" Ginny asked with a raised eyebrow. "No. So it's not your fault."

"I meant it the other day when I said we wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me. I led Eric here."

"We don't know if Eric killed Noah either," Ginny said.

"Who else would it be?" I asked shrilly.

"It could've been anyone," Ginny replied quietly, but she didn't seem all that convinced.

"Actually," a voice said from the door, "it wasn't just _anyone_."

I looked up to see Kingsley standing there with a blonde, curly haired man that was wearing the navy blue and black robes worn by the magical law enforcement department. I somehow recognized the robes from the other night, although I wasn't sure how I'd even retained information as unimportant as colors of someone's robes.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Do you mind if we sit?" Kingsley asked, gesturing to the desk chair.

"No, of course not," I said.

Kingsley perched himself on the edge of the desk, while the man he was with sat in the desk chair. He pulled out a notepad and a quill and set them down. I eyed the objects wearily.

"We're just going to ask you about the events of the other night," Kingsley said gently. "We need a record of it. You understand."

I nodded, my eyes still on the pad and quill. "Sure. Of course."

Kingsley gestured towards the man sitting in the desk chair. "This is Roger Campbell. He works in the magical law enforcement department at the Ministry. He's just going to be taking down your statement of events."

"Nice to meet you, Miss McConnell," Roger said, tilting his head towards me in greeting.

"You as well," I said, looking back and forth from him to Kingsley.

"First of all," Kingsley said, "it's good to see you awake. How are you?"

I shrugged. "Pretty much how you'd expect."

Kingsley nodded.

"I'm sorry for passing out," I added quickly. "I know you wanted me to talk to you that night, but-"

"No need to apologize," Kingsley said. "Your reaction was understandable and not uncommon for people in your circumstance. I know it must be hard for you to relive what happened, but I'm afraid we must."

I nodded and glanced at Ginny, who gave me an encouraging smile. "Can Ginny stay?" I asked.

"Of course," Kingsley said as Roger tapped the pad and quill with his wand. They both rose into the air and hovered there, ready to write. "So," Kingsley began. "would you be able to just give us a detailed account of what happened when you discovered Noah's body?"

I inhaled slowly and stared at the ceiling. "My shift at the Leaky Cauldron was about to end," I said. "I had about ten minutes left. I was bringing out the trash to the bins in the back alley. When I got out there and got closer to the barrels, I noticed an awful smell. I thought maybe someone had forgotten to get rid of the trash. We usually do it before it starts to smell, but..." I trailed off and shook my head. "Anyway, I got closer and the smell got worse. I lifted the lid of one trash bin and flung the bag of garbage inside, in a hurry to get out of there. But the bag jostled the can and then a hand- _Noah's hand_ -fell out from between two of the bins. I knew I shouldn't have pulled the bins away. Part of me wanted to go get someone, but I pulled the bins aside anyway. And that's when Noah rolled out from behind them. He was dirty and there was blood on the back of his head and coming out of his nose and there were those marks on his neck. You've seen him. You know what he looked like." I shrugged. "I couldn't even scream for a bit. It was a delayed reaction. But then I did. Kyle came rushing outside, then Martha. Then they alerted you."

"And just to confirm," Kingsley said, "the last time you saw Noah alive was..."

"Tuesday night," I said. "That was the day he told me and Rachel that his mother was missing. I went over to his house to stay with him. That was the night of that storm." I gave Kingsley a knowing look that I knew he understood. It had been the night Eric had attacked me, but I didn't want to say that in front of Roger. I probably should have. Roger was assisting in investigating Noah's murder and if I thought Eric did it, I should mention it. But I knew Kingsley had a big hand in this as well. I didn't want to turn my personal life into something that an entire Ministry department was looking into. I wanted it kept strictly within the Order. That was enough.

"So," Roger said, frowning. "Tuesday night was the last time you saw Noah alive?"

"That's what I said," I told him with a raised eyebrow.

Roger frowned even more his expression a mix of confusion, exasperation and almost disbelief. Even Kingsley looked unsettled.

"What?" I asked.

"Sophie," Kingsley began, "we've done an analysis on Noah's body to determine not only cause of death, but time of death as well." He paused and looked up to meet my eyes. "You say you last saw Noah on Tuesday night, but he's been dead since last weekend."

His words were met with a long silence. Ginny's mouth had actually dropped open.

"That's impossible," I said. "I saw him Tuesday. _Rachel_ saw him Tuesday. Kayla and Allie. Tom and Martha, Kyle, the guests at the Leaky Cauldron, we all saw him on Tuesday!" My voice had risen in pitch and volume with every word. I was sitting up straight in the bed and staring at Kingsley wide eyed. I felt practically ready to start freaking out again. None of this made sense.

Kingsley held up a hand. "Yes, of course. We believe you. We've talked to everyone you've mentioned, including some of those guests at the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone claims the last time they saw Noah was on Tuesday."

"Then what the hell is going on?" I asked.

"We're still in the process of figuring that out."

"So you've already told everyone else that you think he's been dead for almost a week now?" I asked. "What did they all say?"

"No, we haven't told everyone," Kingsley said. "The information we have about when everyone last saw Noah came from initial statements we got-after Noah's disappearance and the initial discovery of his body on Wednesday. We've told Tom and Martha what we've found about his time of death as well as Molly and Arthur. And now you and Ginny, but no, no one else knows."

"Just to confirm, Miss McConnell," Roger said, looking down at his notepad. "Where were you on Saturday night?"

I thought for a second. "In the flat above the Leaky Cauldron. Tom and Martha's. Where I've been staying. Why?"

"And you worked that day?" Roger asked.

"Yeah, I did. In fact...that was the day Noah came over after his shift. He stayed late and then he went home."

"What time did he leave?" Roger asked.

"Late," I said. "We fell asleep on the couch and Martha woke us up after she was done closing up the pub. So he probably left, I don't know-twelve forty in the morning? Twelve forty five at the latest. Again, why are you asking?"

"Our reports show that Noah Thompson died at approximately twelve forty-seven in the morning on Sunday, September 2nd," Roger said. "He was killed almost immediately after leaving the Leaky Cauldron-or more specifically, your presence at the flat."

"What are you implying?" Ginny asked, almost rudely, staring at Roger with a raised eyebrow and an expression daring him to say something she didn't like.

"Are you saying _I_ had something to do with it?" I asked, feeling as if my blood had suddenly turned to ice.

"She would _never_ ," Ginny said. "She's been devastated about this whole thing. And it's not acting. You haven't been here. You can't fake how she's been behaving."

"Ladies," Roger said wearily, holding up a hand. "Please understand-we're just gathering all the information we can. Miss McConnell _was_ the last person to see Noah Thompson alive. They had some sort of romantic relationship going, correct?"

"Right, so why would she want him dead?" Ginny asked.

"You'd be surprised, Miss Weasley," Roger said. "There have been many murder cases where the significant other has a hand in it."

"But not always, and not in this one," Ginny said firmly, cutting Roger off.

Roger turned to me. "In any case, Miss McConnell, you were close with Noah, yes?"

"Well, more like we were _growing_ close," I admitted. "We were friends and-and yes, I suppose we were developing feelings for each other and seeing where things went and we _were_ growing closer every day, but-"

"Sophie takes a while to open up to people," Ginny said. "She's had a difficult past."

"Yes, speaking of that," Roger said. "Where is it exactly that you come from, Miss McConnell?"

"America," Ginny said shortly as I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my forehead on them, curling up into a ball.

"Yes, I'd gathered that," Roger said. "But _where_. And what brought you here, exactly?"

"Is this an investigation?" Ginny asked. "Is she an official suspect? Because otherwise you don't have reason to be questioning her like this."

"Miss Weasley, it is my _job_ to-"

"Alright, alright," Kingsley said, holding up a hand to stop them from arguing further.

"He's supposed to be here getting her statement of what happened the other night," Ginny said fiercely. _"Not_ questioning her about her past and accusing her of murder."

"Please, _enough_ ," Kingsley said. He turned to Roger. "Roger-considering Sophie is not a suspect in this case, something I don't even believe is possible, I don't find it relevant to question her on her backstory. She has simply come here looking to start over."

Roger looked perturbed. "I'm simply trying to question everyone who may or may not be involved," he said.

"We don't have to dig into her past unless she's been named a suspect," Kingsley said. "We stick to the basic questions only until then. As I've said, I don't believe it's possible for Sophie to be a suspect. Are you forgetting the cause of death already?"

"Nothing is impossible," Roger muttered, but he fell quiet after that.

I looked up at Kingsley. "What's so important about the cause of death?"

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Noah's cause of death was blunt force to the back of his head. Hence, the bleeding that you saw. It appears he was in a physical altercation with someone beforehand, leading to the scratches on his face. He also had markings on his neck as if someone had their hands around his throat, trying to choke him. It appears to us that someone had Noah against a wall or lying on the ground-somewhere against a hard surface-with their hands around his neck. But before they could finish him off by restricting his airway, his head was slammed against a hard surface, killing him instantly."

I covered my mouth with my hands as my eyes filled with tears. I'd seen the results of what had happened to Noah, but now having a story to go with it-having more details of what most likely happened in his last moments was harder than I could have imagined.

Ginny got up and came to sit beside me, putting a hand on my arm comfortingly. It was a way of letting me know she was there without being too overwhelming and I actually appreciated it.

"Frankly, Sophie," Kingsley said, "you don't have the strength to overpower Noah like that. He's about a foot taller than you and probably about sixty to seventy pounds heavier."

"So-he was killed without magic, then?" I asked, looking at Kingsley.

He nodded. "He was."

"That's what's unbelievable to me," Roger said with a frown. "Why would any witch or wizard kill him with Muggle techniques when they could have just used their wand?"

"A few reasons," Kingsley said, glancing at him. "Some people get some kind of sick pleasure out of causing pain and spilling blood."

I let out a sigh and leaned back into my pillows as I stared up at the ceiling. I appreciated Kingsley keeping my backstory quiet from Roger. He was letting the man do his job without getting too involved with investigating Eric. It was better that way. One would think I'd rather leave this solely to the professionals. But I didn't.

"So, let me just go over this again," Roger said, staring at his notepad. "You were with Noah on Saturday night. You fell asleep on the couch, were woken up by Martha, and Noah left between twelve forty and twelve forty-five in the morning. Approximately two to seven minutes later, he was dead. Killed somewhere between exiting into the Leaky Cauldron's back alley and Apparating to, presumably, the home he shared with his mother, who has also been missing since last weekend."

"Correct," I said.

"And you have no knowledge about what could have happened to his mother?"

I shook my head. "I didn't even know about it until Noah told me on...Tuesday," I said, frowning slightly.

"Right," Roger said. "And then Noah showed up to work Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. After he'd already _died_."

I shrugged. "His time of death was your discovery. I knew nothing about that. As far as I knew, he'd only been missing. And only since late Tuesday night."

"How was he acting?" Roger asked. "When you saw him after Saturday?"

I hesitated for a second. "Odd," I finally said. "Kind of unlike himself. But then he told us that his mother was missing, so we kind of attributed everything to that."

I didn't elaborate any more on that, but a wild thought did pop into my head. Was it possible that the Noah we'd all seen after Saturday night _hadn't_ been Noah? I pushed the thought out of my mind as soon as it came. I didn't want to think about it or what it might mean.

"I see," Roger answered slowly, nodding his head as he tapped his chin. "So then...you stayed overnight with him on Tuesday, he disappeared at some point and was missing all day Wednesday until you stumbled upon his body in the alleyway."

"Yes," I answered.

"Okay," Roger said, looking over his notes once more before closing the pad. "Thank you for your time, Miss McConnell. We'll be in touch if we require your assistance with anything else." He stood up and headed for the door, rubbing his head. "I don't know about you," he said to Kingsley, "but I could use a very strong cup of tea."

Kingsley looked at me and Ginny in slight exasperation and amusement as he stood up and headed for the door himself. "Excuse him," he said. He looked at me and smiled slightly. "Thank you for talking to us, Sophie. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon-sooner than you'll be seeing Roger."

"Good," I said with a nod.

Kingsley looked down at me seriously, meeting my eyes. "We'll find him," he said. I knew he was talking about Eric, and he sounded so reassuring and confident in his statement that I truly believed him.

* * *

Ginny left my room not too long after Kingsley and Roger left. She said she'd give me more time to rest, but resting was the last thing on my mind. Instead, I forced myself out of bed and started pacing around the room. I couldn't stay still. Eventually I sat on the window seat, but then moved to the desk, and then back to the bed. And then I was up and moving around the room again. This went on for about two and a half hours until I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a knock at my door.

"Sophie?" Fred's voice asked from outside. "It's Fred and George. Can we come in?"

I turned my head slightly from where I was standing to the side of the window seat, gazing out the window and chewing on a fingernail. "Yeah," I finally said.

The door opened slowly and Fred stuck his head in. "Hi," he said.

"Hey," I answered quietly.

"How are you?" Fred asked gently, leading the way into the room and making his way over to me. He stood on the opposite side of the window, leaning against the wall and looking over at me while George made himself comfortable in the desk chair

"Everyone keeps asking me that," I said with a scoff, turning to look out the window and continuing to chew on my fingernail.

Fred was quiet for a moment. "I shouldn't have asked." When I glanced over at him, he continued. "The answer's obvious, isn't it? I should know. My _family_ should know. We got asked that question a lot. And yeah, people care, they're concerned, it's a routine question-an expected question. But a dumb one. Sorry I asked it. I know how you are. You feel like shit."

I actually smiled fleetingly. "Ginny said the same thing. Right before she told me that she takes after you in not having a filter."

Fred chuckled. "She's right. Drives Mum up the wall."

"Did she talk to you?" I asked. "Your mother? About what they found when they examined Noah's body?"

Fred shook his head.

"We don't know anything," George said. "Did Kingsley come by?"

I nodded. "With a member of the magical law enforcement team." I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, closing on to fistfuls of it near the back as I bowed my head and closed my eyes.

"How'd that go?" George asked gently.

I slid my hands to the back of my neck and opened my eyes, continuing to stare at the floor. "Roger basically said things that made it seem like _I_ had been the one to kill Noah. I was the last one to see him alive, after all, which he pointed out before trying to pry into my past. Oh...and there's the fact that Noah actually died last weekend." I let out a bitter laugh.

"Last weekend?" the twins asked in horror.

"Weren't you _with him_ at his house on Tuesday night?" Fred asked.

"And wasn't he working up until then?" George went on.

I nodded. "Yes and yes."

Fred and George gaped at me. "Hang on," Fred said. "Let me get this straight. Noah's been dead for almost a week, but multiple people saw him after that. And the prat from the Ministry thinks you had something to do with it?"

"He said he was just looking into all options and because Noah and I had romantic interest in each other and because I was the last person to see him—both Tuesday night and last weekend, he—"

"He assumes you're a murderer?" Fred scoffed. "Did they figure out what the cause of death was?"

I nodded and explained to the twins what I'd been told and how Kingsley believed it wouldn't have been possible for me to use that sort of force on someone.

"Well, _yeah_ ," George snorted. "That's obvious."

"Seriously, look at the size of you," Fred added. "No offense, but you don't look like you can take someone in a physical fight. Definitely not to the point of _death_."

"You don't have it in you," George said. "It's not in you physically and it's not in your personality either."

"Roger doesn't know that," I answered. "He knows nothing about me, so technically he is doing his job, but it just...it hurts to be accused of something you didn't do."

"Like Elizabeth was?" Fred asked and I instantly looked up to see him smiling at me slightly.

"Yeah, I suppose so," I answered, my voice a hoarse whisper. I hadn't even thought of comparing my false accusation to the diary. It was another strange parallel, though. Guilt, false accusations, and finding freedom from whatever chains holding you down—literally or figuratively—seemed to all be common themes tying me and Fred to this one small, old book and the story from the past that it told. It was eerie, but I actually felt grateful for it.

"You didn't kill Noah," Fred said, his voice low as we continued to stare at each other. "We all know it. Even Kingsley knows it. And it's quite a plus to have the Minister of Magic on your side."

I smiled slightly, but it faded quickly.

"Fred and I stopped by the Leaky Cauldron before coming here," George said. "We thought we'd check up on everyone for you."

"Yeah? And how are they?" I asked, turning towards him eagerly.

George shrugged. "Tom and Martha are trying to go on like all is normal, but they're grieving over Noah, too. And now you're not there anymore. And Rachel hasn't been on top of her game. She hasn't even been acting half of the way she used to act. Which is understandable. But it's been hard for business-they're down two staff members and the rest of them are dealing with the death of one of them."

I sighed and crossed over to the bed, sinking down on it and resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

"They miss you," Fred said, still standing at the window, but turning so that he was now leaning with his back against the wall instead of his shoulder. "They asked about you."

I looked up at him, a small smile on my face. "They did?"

Fred nodded. "All of them. Even Rachel."

"At the time, we didn't have any new information to give them," George said. "As far as we knew, you were still out cold. But they'll be happy to hear you're up and about."

"Well, I wouldn't quite say _about_ ," I said. I looked down and took in the clothes I was wearing-at some point, someone had put me in different things than what I'd been wearing on Wednesday. They were my things-a pair of pajama pants and a long sleeved shirt. They must have grabbed the bag I'd packed from Tom and Martha's. But in any case, I felt a mess. My hair was greasy and piled in a messy bun on the top of my head. And I knew from when I'd glanced at myself in the mirror earlier that I was pale.

"Ah, but you're up," Fred told me. "You're halfway there. "Mum's got dinner almost ready. Why don't you go get cleaned up and come downstairs? Mum said she put your stuff away in the closet."

"She actually put everything away?" I asked in surprise.

"She wants you to make yourself at home," Fred answered with a shrug. He smiled at me and pushed off the wall, holding out both of his hands for me to grab them. "I'm offering them to you to help you up," he said with a smirk. "Just to clarify."

I gave him a weary smile before reaching out and taking his hands, allowing him to pull me to my feet.

"You're up," he said quietly. "Now you just need to get working on the _about_ part of that expression." He gently nudged me towards the closet as he and George headed for the door. "Get to it," he said with a smile. "Pick out a change of clothes. Everything else you need should be in the bathroom."

And then he and George were gone, shutting the door with a click.

* * *

I felt slightly better once I'd showered and changed my clothes, but it didn't do much for the odd feeling in my chest and stomach-almost as if they were empty but heavy at the same time. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't scrub away the grief in the shower.

In addition to the twins being over, Bill and Fleur joined us for dinner. Everyone else had been tied up with prior engagements. Which was fine with me. The less people, the better. The last thing I wanted right now was a crowd. Oddly, no one brought up the events of the past few days. Again, I was grateful. It was exhausting going over everything over and over again. I was already doing that in my mind, trying to make sense of it all.

Once dinner was over, I offered to help Mrs. Weasley clean up, but she shooed me away and insisted that I not even so much as lift a finger.

"But—" I started to protest, but Fred interrupted.

"Listen to the lady, Sophie," he said. "When she gives you the opportunity to not do any work, you take it."

Mrs. Weasley scoffed. " _Please_. You and George always took it even if I _didn't_ give you the opportunity!"

"True," Fred said with a laugh. "But it just so happens that I'd like to borrow Sophie for a little while. I can't do that if you're putting her to work, Mum."

"Oh, just go on, get out of here," she said, rolling her eyes and shooing him away.

Fred laughed again and gently took my hand, leading me out into the backyard and across the grass.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You'll see in a minute," he answered, his eyes trained on the line of trees ahead of us.

I hesitated once we reached them. They weren't a thick line of trees. I knew that. I'd been to the Burrow in the daytime enough to know that I could stand where I was now and see glimpses of the other side through the branches. But even still, and especially in the darkness, it reminded me of being in the woods running away from Eric, afraid he was going to catch up to me. It reminded me of all my nightmares where he actually did catch up to me.

"You okay?" Fred asked, noticing my hesitation, mostly due to the tugging that resulted on his hand that was still holding mine.

"Yeah," I said slowly.

"I can assure you those trees are extremely safe," Fred said. "No crazy foster fathers lurking in the bushes."

"Not funny," I said, shooting him a look.

He smiled and tugged on my hand. "Come on," he said. "I'll be right here the whole time."

I studied him for a second before nodding and following him through the trees, following a pathway that was clearly made by the constant flow of foot traffic through the leaves and dirt.

Once we came out on the other side, I looked up and sucked in a breath. We were at the pond. I'd never been out here before, but I'd obviously heard about it.

It was beautiful. There was a lopsided wooden dock jutting out over one side to our right. The trees behind us secluded it from the house and then curved partway around to either side. Directly across was a field of grass and then more trees. I could see a rope dangling from a tree branch not far to our left. I figured they used it to swing into the water from the shore. It was easy to picture the Weasleys out here having fun. I could almost hear laughter and the splashing of water.

But then again, it was the same pond Fred had submerged himself in over and over again, holding his breath as long as he could each time, tempting fate.

"The infamous pond," Fred announced, gesturing with a grand sweep of his hand and smiling wryly at me.

"How are you so nonchalant about something like that?" I asked, looking up at him in confusion.

Fred shrugged. "It's part of who I am," he said. "You said you wanted to know, didn't you? All about who I am, who I was, what makes me, well, me?"

"I suppose I did," I answered quietly.

Fred led me around to the dock and proceeded to take a seat, pull off his shoes and dangle his feet down into the water that was now inky colored in the darkness.

"Sit down," he said, patting the space next to him. "Make yourself comfortable."

"What are we doing out here?" I asked, finding myself following his lead and sitting down on the dock. I pulled off my own shoes and tentatively stuck a toe in the water to test it.

Fred snorted as he watched me. "Really?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

I looked back at him and shrugged. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," he said, smirking as he shook his head.

"Answer my question," I said, slowly submerging my feet in the water and allowing myself to get used to the cold temperature.

"We were supposed to hang out tonight anyway, weren't we?" Fred asked. "I was going to tell you all about my grand escape from Hogwarts, right? And since we're not going to Hogsmeade as planned, I thought we'd do it here."

I stared out at the surface of the water stretching out in front of me, rippling slightly in some spots and reflecting the moonlight. "Were you ever scared?" I asked. "Even once?"

Fred didn't answer right away. He followed my gaze out to the water. "You mean when I was holding my breath out there?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I didn't think so at the time. Every time I did it, I was too angry to be scared. But I must have been afraid to some extent because I always came back up to the surface. I pushed my limits as far as they would go, but never further." He paused. "I regret doing it, though. Every last instance I jumped in here, even the most recent one."

"You do?" I asked, looking up at him in slight surprise. "You don't seem to be the type to regret anything."

"I'm not. Usually. But I regret this." He swung his submerged foot forwards, up out of the water for a brief second so that the water splashed slightly.

"Why?" I asked.

Fred glanced over at me. "Because it was selfish," he said. "My family had just lost Percy and I was acting so erratically and then jumping in here and essentially taunting death...My mother said it herself. She was afraid of losing another son. I'm horrified I even put her through that. I never thought about it that way, which proves my point. I was selfish and consumed with my own pain and grief."

"I get it and I'm not saying you're completely wrong," I said. "But you're not entirely to blame. People process things differently. Things like grief and fear...I'm pretty sure they warp people's minds to an extent. Look at the witch trials! People were so _afraid_ of the unknown and afraid of magic that they falsely accused people of doing things they weren't doing. They treated them like crap. People died!" I took in a slow breath and lowered my voice to a whisper as I swirled my feet through the water. "And look at me. I'm so afraid of Eric that I crossed an ocean to get away a from him. And I had planned to keep moving. I was more willing to eat out of the garbage in one strange country after another. I was willing to completely be on my own for the rest of my life—or at least for as long as Eric was alive. That's a little crazy too, don't you think?"

"Not as crazy as what I did," Fred said. "You know, you're part of the reason why I regret doing it."

"Me?" I asked. That was probably one of the last things I'd expected him to say.

"Yeah, I mean, here you are fighting for your _life_ ," he said, "and all this time there was some part of me not caring if I threw mine away." He shook his head. "I should be fighting for it. That's what Percy would have wanted. And how I started acting after he died...it _isn't_ me."

"What _is_ you, then?" I asked. I leaned back on my hands and looked at him expectantly.

Fred took in a deep breath through his nose. "Depends on who you ask, I suppose. Most of my teachers from school would say I'm a troublemaker. _Anyone_ you ask would say I'm a prankster. My mother would say I'm trouble, but sweet when I want to be. George would say I'm his best friend. I'm a brother, a son, a friend. A Quidditch player-a fantastic Beater if you ask me. I love making people laugh. I don't always have a filter, so I'll end up speaking before I think. I can be brutally honest. I'm reckless. I'm a daredevil. I don't play by the rules. In fact, I hate them. Always have. I almost function _better_ when things are in disarray. Except after the war." He shook his head. "The battle happened and suddenly my life was turned upside down and I couldn't function anymore."

"Well, to be fair that's a completely different kind of disarray," I said.

"Still not an excuse for acting like a complete nutter."

I was quiet for a moment as we both looked out over the water. Finally, I looked over at Fred with a tiny smile. "So, tell me about this infamous escape from Hogwarts. I've been dying to know."

Fred gave me a lopsided smile. "Okay, okay. So...George and I had wanted to open a joke shop pretty much as long as either of us can remember. It was almost as if it were the most natural thing in the world. We loved jokes, we loved pranks, and we certainly had the personality for it. A lot of people didn't think we were serious. Or they did, but tried to convince us to do something else. Like Mum. She wanted us to go into the Ministry for a while. But that's not us. Be honest-can you see George and I going to work in an office every day? Wearing office clothes and doing...office things? _Paperwork_?" He scrunched his nose.

I actually giggled. "No, you're right, I can't quite see that. But don't you have to do some extent of paperwork for the shop? It is a business, after all."

"Well, sure," Fred said. "But that's different. It's not as bad because the shop's everything we've ever wanted. Doing paperwork is worth it when it's something we love."

"How romantic," I commented as Fred looked over at me and grinned, letting out a laugh as he did so.

"Shut up," he said, reaching down to dip his fingers into the water and flicking a few drops at me. I flinched away, but smiled nonetheless.

"Okay, okay...continue," I said.

"So anyway," Fred went on, "George and I worked _so_ hard to finally get everything up and running. We saved up for years. By the time we were in our sixth year, we were so close. _So_ close. And then we lost all our savings betting on the outcome of the Quidditch World Cup. We actually won, but the guy we made the bet with was in a spot of trouble with some goblins. He was in debt and owed them money as well. So he paid us in leprechaun gold. By the next day, it was all gone and George and I spent all year trying to pin this guy down, only to find out in the end that he didn't have the money and couldn't pay us. So it was back to square one. Or so we thought. Actually, we'd tried to enter the Triwizard Tournament that year-despite being underage. We thought an Aging Potion would do the trick." He smiled nostalgically. "It didn't. All it did was give George and I identical beards."

"I heard about that tournament," I said. "It was in the newspapers. Harry won, didn't he? But it was the night-"

"You-Know-Who came back, yeah," Fred said. "And yes, Harry won. On the train home for the summer, he gave George and I his prize money."

"He did?" I asked.

Fred nodded. "A thousand Galleons. George and I couldn't believe it. We tried to refuse, but Harry wouldn't let us. He actually threatened to _hex_ us. Can you believe it?" He clucked his tongue and smiled. "But we finally had our money. A few weeks later, we'd purchased our premises-the place we're at now."

"A few _weeks_ later?" I asked in shock. "You bought something so important that quickly?"

Fred smiled. "Impulsive, remember?" He shrugged. "It was almost a good thing because then we had to go into hiding. We were in danger of being targeted-what with being blood traitors and all, so we had to hide out at the Order's headquarters. George and I started an owl order business to get things going, but Mum would throw out our forms as well as products we'd already invented."

"She'd throw them away?" I asked. " _Your_ mother? Really?"

Fred nodded. "I told you she really didn't support George and I going into the joke business."

"Yeah, but I didn't realize the extent of it. What'd you do?"

"What do you think? We kept doing it anyway. In secret. She'd been throwing our stuff away for at least a year at this point. We were frustrated and angry because it was our hard work, time, and energy-all in the trash. And we'd have to make more. But we kept going. We debated not going back to school for our last year. We thought about just opening our shop right away. But we knew Mum would freak out. She already couldn't handle the fact that George and I only got three OWLs each. And if we ditched school and didn't even take our NEWTs...And then that summer was the summer that Percy walked out on us. She was already high strung, so we decided to go back. We figured it couldn't help to do a little more research and a few more tests anyway."

"But you didn't end up staying the whole year," I said.

"Right," Fred said. "Once Umbridge found out about the D.A., George and I didn't really have much to hang around for anymore. She'd already banned us from Quidditch..."

"She did? For what?"

"For fighting," Fred answered. "Well, it was George and Harry really. They managed to actually get some punches in. Angelina, Katie and Alicia managed to hold me back, but if they hadn't I would've beaten Malfoy up, too." He paused. "Malfoy was this complete arse of a kid in Harry and Ron's year. Son of a Death Eater. Pureblood. Completely entitled. He was having a go at my family and my Mum after his team lost a Quidditch match. He was being a sore loser, but it wasn't an excuse. Anyway, Umbridge banned us for the rest of the year."

"Wow," I said quietly.

"Yeah," Fred answered with a curt laugh. "So once the D.A. was done, George and I were too. We planned an escape. One of our inventions was a portable swamp, which is exactly what it sounds like. We set it off in one of the upstairs corridors as a distraction and then we were supposed to just summon our brooms from Umbridge's office and go. But she knew the swamp was our doing right away and she ended up cornering us in the entrance hall in front of most of the school. But George and I just moved on with our plan. We told everyone listening they'd get discounted merchandise if they used it on her. Then we summoned our brooms, told the school poltergeist to give her hell, and then just...left. Right out the front doors, a chain still dangling from George's broom, almost the whole school watching us and Umbridge standing there, completely outraged." He smiled as he stared off into the distance, reliving that day over in his mind. "Honestly, it was probably one of the best victories of my life. Not only did we completely cause some hell for Umbridge, but we left to open our joke shop. Our dream was finally a reality. And it was a huge hit. You've seen it. You've witnessed how crowded it can get. I'm blown away almost every day that we're still doing so well."

"You worked hard for it," I said. "And it paid off. And you're clearly good at your job. You're friendly, charismatic, funny. You're pretty much a natural born salesman."

Fred grinned at me. "You got any more compliments at the ready?" he asked curiously.

I giggled. "You know, I can only imagine what a complete _charmer_ you were when you were in school."

"What makes you say that?" Fred asked with a laugh.

"Because you still are one," I snorted. "Mr. Personality. Even after all you've been through, you do still have it in you." I looked at him thoughtfully. "I'm kind of getting a better sense of who you used to be."

"Are you now?" Fred asked. "Go on, tell me."

I studied his face. "I was beginning to fear that you used to be the totally arrogant, popular athlete and prankster that didn't care about consequences and thought he was above everything. I was afraid that the old you was a jerk and that you'd go back to that. Part of me was still afraid that you befriending me was a _joke_. But none of that is true."

I stared out at the water again for a moment, listening to the sound of crickets chirping before I went on.

"You _were_ popular in school. I'm sure of it. Lots of people probably liked you, even the teachers, despite all the trouble you caused. Also, being an athlete automatically gives you popularity points. You're smart, but not exactly studious. And you're obviously funny. You know all those things about yourself, but you're _not_ arrogant. You're just confident. You're a prankster, but you never use pranks or jokes to bully people. That's what originally set my alarm bells off with you. I couldn't understand how jokes and pranks could be used for anything besides bullying. I thought I knew your type. An arrogant, cocky, flirtatious jerk who wanted to pick on people for fun. Part of me automatically assumed things about you because of how I'd been treated at school. But despite your jokes and your humor and you're reckless, nonchalant attitude, you're loyal and protective of people you love. In fact, I'll bet a lot of pranks were on people who gave you or your friends or siblings hell, am I right?"

"You are," Fred said slowly, smiling over at me. "I noticed that most of what you said was in the present tense, though. I thought you were trying to figure out who I _used to be_. You even used those words yourself. _Used to be_."

"I think the person you were in school is still who you are now," I said. "The big things, the _important_ things haven't changed about you. And I was wrong about a lot, like I said. I made assumptions and I'm sorry about that. And you know...I thought there was a before and after too. I thought that maybe someone would be one way for a certain amount of time and then something life-changing happens and then they'd be completely different." I shrugged. "But I don't think that's the case. You've changed and grown and evolved, and Percy's death did have an impact on you, but you're not an entirely new person, Fred. You're still the person you used to be. Maybe a little more mature, but you're still you."

"If that's true for me, then it must be true for you as well," he whispered. He pulled his legs out of the water and turned to face me, sitting cross-legged on the worn wood of the dock.

I mirrored his actions and turned to face him, crossing my legs under me as well. "What do you mean?" I asked. "My whole issue is that I don't know who I am at all."

"You never became someone you're not," Fred said. "You probably became tough because of what you went through. Scared, sad, paranoid-you _became_ a lot of things, but you never lost the traits you started out with. You're kind, you're smart, you _are_ funny when you allow yourself to be. You're independent. You're a good person and I think you always have been. Remember what Martha said the other night? You haven't let the things that have happened in your life change you. You haven't grown mean or bitter or resentful. A lot of people might have in your situation."

I thought that over for a second, staring down at my hands as I did. Finally, I let out a breath of laughter and peered up at Fred with a wry smile. "Do you say that to _all_ the girls?" I asked.

Fred gaped at me as he let out a laugh. "You'd better watch out or I'll push you in the water," he said, leaning over and lightly shoving my knee.

"Don't," I laughed, swatting his hands away.

Fred let out a slow breath as his face became serious. "I don't know," he said. "People have always said I'm charming and it's not that I don't believe them, because I know what I am. I already told you I always thought I was born to do the job I'm doing and sometimes-well, _usually,_ actually-in order to sell things to people, you have to be charming. But I wasn't some kind of..."

"Ladies man?" I suggested. "Womanizer? Casanova?"

"Casa-who?" Fred asked.

I snorted. "Muggle thing. Nevermind."

"Well, anyway," Fred said, "no, I wasn't really any of that. I mean, I guess I'm _good_ with girls. But I'm good with people in general." He shrugged. "Ange was the only girl in school I ever really pursued. And I had her for three really great years. Until I screwed up."

"You didn't," I said.

"I did," he argued. "I should've done better. The way I reacted to Percy's death wasn't the way to go."

"You can't always help how you react to things," I said. "But I suppose what matters is if you change your behavior or not. And it seems like you are. You have a lot of people around you willing to help. People who want you to be better."

"But Angelina left," Fred said. "That's part of why I'm so... _angry_. I never thought she would."

"I don't think she _left,"_ I said. "I bet she'd still be there for you if you needed her. I could tell from the day I met her when we went out to that Muggle pub. She cares about you."

"But—"

"I know she stopped dating you and moved on to another guy," I said. "And I'm not saying that wouldn't hurt. And I agree that if you love someone, it doesn't mean leaving the second times get hard, but is that was she did? How long did she stay? How long did she try? And just how easy did you make this on her?"

"Are you saying this is all my fault?" Fred asked, frustration crossing his face.

"What I'm asking is-well, is there more to the story you don't want to admit?"

Fred was quiet for a moment as he thought. He stared down at his hands as he did so. "She didn't dump me the second Percy died, if that's what you want to know," he said bitterly. "Or even the day after. Or a week. Or a month. She waited six months. She hung around for six months, hoping I'd stop getting drunk and hoping I'd stop being so angry and miserable and guilty. She tried in her own way, but I think she made things worse. Her efforts only made me angry. She hovered just like everyone else, maybe even more so. She'd cry, she'd yell, she'd cry and yell. And I'd yell back and end up just pushing her further and further away." He let out a sigh of frustration and rubbed a hand over his face. "I played a part in her leaving and I know it. I almost hate myself for it. But at the time, I felt like she wasn't giving me the kind of support I needed, even though I felt like I couldn't even _articulate_ what I needed. But then when she left, it felt like she'd _given up_ on me. And when she moved on to Wood so quickly, I began to wonder if she'd ever loved me at all."

I reached out and tentatively placed a hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know," I whispered. "I know just how you feel. I've felt that way all my life. With my _mother_ of all people. But then I came here. And I met you. I met Martha and Tom and Rachel, Kayla and Allie. I met people who _refused_ to let me feel as if I weren't loved. You have a lot of people that care about you and I think Angelina is still one of them. I know she broke your heart and I know it'll take a while to heal, but you'll get there. I promise."

Fred looked up at me and gave me a sad smile. "You too. You'll be okay, you know."

I nodded as my throat suddenly constricted and tears came to my eyes. "I hope so."

"I know so," Fred said. He reached up and gently tilted my chin up so that I was looking at him. "Remember all that confidence you were directing towards me a second ago? Use some of that on yourself."

"If I have to, you have to," I said.

Fred smiled. "It's a deal.


	22. Chapter 22

I sighed as I flipped through the last few entries in Elizabeth's diary. She was still locked up in the Salem jail and the entries simply described the harsh conditions she was living in. There had been one more entry in May and two more in June. She mentioned that she did have a lot of time on her hands and could have had enough time to fill up the entire diary within a month or two, but _nothing_ was happening to her worth writing about. It was the same thing day after day. She sat in her cell avoiding the bugs and rats and the water that poured in during high tide. She sometimes talked to Dorothy and Sarah through the hole in the wall. She ate the three small meals provided to her throughout the day. Sometimes she threw them back up due to her pregnancy. Usually, no one would ever come in to clean it. Sometimes the smell would make her eventually throw up more. And most of all, she wished she could see her husband.

She wrote a bit about how draining being imprisoned was and how miserable she was becoming because of it, which was understandable. She felt as if no matter what she did, she couldn't win. She tried to stand up for Dorothy and all she got was negative attention turned in her direction. She hadn't wanted to sell out any of her friends or family members, so she refused to hand out names of anyone who could perform magic, giving up any chance of being let go in return. And yet, her friends and husband were imprisoned anyway.

And now she was responsible for her unborn child and she was locked up in jail in horrible conditions. She'd tried to protect everyone else and failed and now there was a chance she'd fail in keeping her baby alive. And if her baby did survive through birth, Elizabeth would be executed shortly after and her child would be an orphan.

She mentioned a few times in her desperate state that she needed to figure out how to survive. She had to save herself for once in order to keep her child safe.

She wrote that she'd spend her days coming up with escape plans, each one more impossible than the next. Each plan ended with her getting caught and killed at some point in the process. With each realization that nothing she was coming up with was helpful, she'd grow more and more helpless.

I gently tossed the diary to the other end of the bed as I leaned back against the pillows. Reading the entries was almost too sad. My heart broke for Elizabeth-it really did-and I usually found that I could only take a few entries at a time. Her story was captivating, but also heard to read. Especially knowing that it was all real and that it was her firsthand account.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up. A week had passed since I'd arrived at the Burrow and it was now nearing mid-September. I'd been spending my days helping Mrs. Weasley around the house. She'd insisted I didn't need to, but I refused to live there and not at least help her out a little bit. I didn't mind it, actually. It kept me busy and kept me from thinking about everything that was going on.

Being at the Burrow all day every day also gave me and Mrs. Weasley a lot of time to get to know each other. At first it was me just listening to her stories. I actually liked hearing them. In fact, I'd only been there a few days when she started telling me about her family over breakfast. I'd complimented her on the delicious scrambled eggs she'd made me and she'd smiled, thanked me, and then mentioned that she used to make scrambled eggs for her brothers until they were well into their teenage years. She'd never trusted them to do it themselves. Apparently they used to make a huge mess whenever they tried to do anything involving eggs.

"The entire yolk would be _everywhere_ ," she groaned.

"You have brothers?" I asked.

She paused. "Had," she commented. "Fabian and Gideon were their names. They were twins, just like Fred and George. In fact, they even behaved like Fred and George do and had the same red hair and freckles. I swear, sometimes being around my own sons is like seeing my brothers reincarnated." She shook her head and gazed out the window, lost in thought.

"What happened to them?" I asked quietly. "Fabian and Gideon."

"They were killed during the first war," she said quietly, turning away from the window and sinking into the chair across from me, starting in on her own breakfast. "Murdered, actually, by a Death Eater named Antonin Dolohov. Fred and George were only three at the time. Ron was one. Ginny wasn't even born-I was eight months pregnant with her. Bill remembers it the most. He was eleven."

I didn't know how to respond to that. I never realized just how much loss the Weasleys-Mrs. Weasley in particular-had gone through. She'd lost her brothers and she'd lost a son. I could only imagine the toll three big losses like that had taken on her.

"I'm sorry," I finally said.

"I was almost thirty-two at the time," Mrs. Weasley went on, wrapping her hands around her mug of tea. "Fabian and Gideon were only twenty-seven. Still so young. They didn't have family of their own yet, but Gideon had a serious girlfriend at the time. I swear he planned on marrying her, but then—" she broke off and cleared her throat. "I lost contact with her shortly after, but I think about her often." She cleared her throat again. "I should've done something. I was their older sister and it was my job to protect them. But I wasn't very involved in the Order back then. I was pregnant, first of all. And I had six children, four of them were aged five and under. I had to be there for them, and in turn, I couldn't be there for my brothers. I tried to talk them out of being involved themselves, but they were stubborn, just like Fred and George. And I didn't push it because on the flip side, I knew how important fighting You-Know-Who was and I knew they felt strongly about needing to do something and needing to participate in essentially helping to protect the ones they loved. But ever since they died, I've felt like a failure for not doing more to protect _them."_ She paused and glanced up at me. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Have you told anyone else?" I asked, twirling my fork slowly in my fingertips.

"Arthur," she shrugged.

"Well," I said slowly, "speaking from my own recent experiences, sometimes it's better to talk to more people about how you're feeling. And it's good to have a lot of people you can trust with how you're feeling. I didn't until recently, and I've found that the more people I talk to, the _easier_ it is to talk and the better I feel." I paused. "We don't know each other all that well, so I'm a little surprised myself that you'd choose to tell me something like that, but I'm glad you did. If it helps you, then...I'm glad I could listen."

Mrs. Weasley stared at me a moment before she sniffled slightly. "More pumpkin juice?" She asked, standing up and reaching for the pitcher of juice on the counter, despite the fact that my glass was still about half full. I smiled slightly as she refilled the glass and sat down again.

"Thanks," I whispered.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. "You know, I thought nothing could top the way I felt after my brothers died," she said. "But then we lost Percy and I felt like a failure all over again. This time as a mother. And then the way Fred was reacting...He didn't like us to hover, but we were all so _scared_. Especially me. I couldn't help it. But I started to fear that in the end it would be my hovering that would cause him to snap and me to lose another son."

I looked at her sadly. "You're not a failure," I told her quietly. "You did all you could with your brothers, with Percy, and with Fred."

"There's no way of knowing..." Mrs. Weasley began, staring into her tea again. "I should have done _more_."

"There are some things that are just out of our control," I said, repeating Elizabeth's words from the diary. "We think we're doing all the right things, but bad things happen anyway."

I stared down at my own breakfast as I thought about the diary again. Elizabeth had put so much guilt on herself-for not being able to help her friends and family and then for having to survive in jail to give her unborn child a chance of life. It took her a long time to realize that she could have only done so much and that there came a point where she needed to come to terms with what had happened, not blame herself, and do what she could in order to _survive_.

"We're always going to tell ourselves we could have done more or should have done more," I shrugged. "But sometimes you just _can't_." I looked up at her. "I never met your brothers, but I've met Fred and George. And I think they'd tell you you always do more than enough. And for what it's worth, _I_ think you're doing more than enough. You took me in when you didn't have to. You barely even know me and you've invited me into your home."

"It's the right thing to do," she answered. "It's a risk for all of us and I know that and I worry about everyone's safety getting involved with this-I won't lie. But I also worry about _your_ safety. How could I turn my back and let you fend for yourself? What kind of person would I be?"

I smiled at her. "Thank you," I whispered. "I'm extremely grateful."

Mrs. Weasley looked up at me, her eyes slightly watery as she put her hand over mine. "And thank _you_. Usually I'm the one giving out advice."

I laughed slightly. "Well, one good thing about everything that's happened to me is that I've learned a lot about myself, other people, and, well... _life_. Difficulties really do make you wise."

Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "That's usually how it goes," she agreed.

* * *

Mrs. Weasley and I ended up making a habit out of eating breakfast together every morning and lunch together every afternoon. I'd help her cook, too. I'd had plenty of practice from when I'd lived in Salem and I found that even though I'd considered myself a decent cook, it was nothing compared to Mrs. Weasley. She knew so much and she'd shared recipes and cooking techniques with me that only helped me improve.

Dinners were usually a bit more crowded and lively. Mr. Weasley would be home from work by then and the twins had been stopping by nearly every night. Sometimes Bill and Fleur would come by as well as Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. Ginny was actually a frequent visitor during the day as well. She'd moved in with Harry and started training with the Holyhead Harpies-which was very impressive, even by my Quidditch-indifferent standards. But that meant she didn't have typical work hours and usually had free time during the day during the hours when she wasn't practicing.

In the entire first week that I was at the Burrow, I didn't hear anything from Kingsley, but I'd done a lot of thinking about what had happened and the information I'd been given. One explanation for the discrepancy between the time Noah actually died and when we'd last seen him had crossed my mind towards the end of the week and I'd wondered if I should say anything. It couldn't hurt. It sounded insane, but it was the only thing that made sense and I was surprised it had taken me so long to think of it.

Someone had to have been posing as him between late Saturday night, when he died, and sometime after Tuesday night, when I'd last seen him at his house.

I knew there were ways to do it, the most common being Polyjuice Potion. But the thing was that Eric couldn't do magic and had little to no knowledge of magical spells and potions. Even if he knew about Polyjuice Potion, he wouldn't be able to brew it, so that was my theory's one flaw.

Unless, of course, it hasn't been Eric, or unless he'd gotten help. But from who?

I turned all the information over and over in my head for days, thinking and thinking and trying not to make myself crazy.

Finally, Kingsley showed up on Sunday, a little over a week since Noah's body had been found and I'd gone to the Burrow. I'd decided to mention my idea to him and see what he thought or if he'd come to the same conclusion himself.

We were all eating dinner-Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, me, Fred, George, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Bill and Fleur-all ten of us crammed inside the house since it was too cold that night to be outside. Kingsley showed up shortly after we'd started eating and apologized for interrupting. Mrs. Weasley insisted it was fine and essentially forced him to sit down and eat with us.

"Any news?" Mr. Weasley asked as Kingsley sat down and smoothed a napkin in his lap.

An odd hush fell over the room as everyone waited for Kingsley's response. It seemed as if every noise had stopped. No one was moving, there were no sounds of creaking chairs or clinking silverware or even breathing. Even Mrs. Weasley had paused at the stove, glancing over her shoulder with the soup ladle poised in the air above the bowl she was filling for Kingsley.

"Well, as you all know," Kingsley said, "we've been looking for Noah's mother since we discovered that she'd gone missing."

"You've found her?" I asked hopefully.

Kingsley shook his head sadly. "We've found nothing, but we believe that she could be dead."

There was a clunk and a splash as Mrs. Weasley dropped the soup ladle directly back into the pot of steaming soup.

I sucked in a breath as my insides constricted and I buried my head in my hands.

"What makes you think that?" Mr. Weasley asked quietly.

"Just because you haven't found her in a few weeks, you think she's dead?" I asked, looking up at Kingsley.

"No, that's not why," he said. He thanked Mrs. Weasley as she finally managed to jerkily set down his soup in front of him. She nodded and returned to the stove, waving her wand to retrieve the fallen ladle.

"Then why?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"We received an anonymous tip," he said. "A note, actually." He paused. "It was hastily written and it said Noah's mother's name at the top and then gave a list of directions. We followed them to a forest just outside of London. The directions were specific enough to lead us to a certain spot and we were sure we got it right, but there was no body and no evidence of anything being buried. However, we did find evidence of a fire being burned in the area and we found a bracelet left behind." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver bracelet with an opal charm hanging from it.

"That's hers," I said. "Noah's mother's. I recognize it. She was wearing it when I first met her. Noah gave it to her for her birthday. Opal is her birthstone."

Kingsley nodded and slipped the bracelet away. "I was going to ask if you recognized it."

"So you're saying that you think someone killed Noah's mother and burned the body?" I asked slowly, clasping and unclasping my hands in my lap as I gazed down at them.

Kingsley nodded again. "That's what it seems like. We have no idea who or how or why. We have no idea who tipped us off. As of now. But we intend to find out."

"Oh." I said.

"Do you think it could've been the same person who killed Noah?" Ginny asked.

Kingsley shrugged and sighed heavily. "Maybe. But there's the question of why would they get rid of his mother's body, but leave Noah's dumped behind the Leaky Cauldron where someone was sure to see it?"

"To scare me," I said suddenly, swallowing and looking up. "Eric. He must have done it. It had to have been him. He wanted Noah's mother out of the way. That's probably why he killed her. And then he got rid of the evidence because she didn't matter to him in the least. He _wanted_ me to find Noah's body. He wanted to scare me. He wanted me to know what he's capable of and how far he'd go to-to-"

"To what?" Fred asked quietly. He reached over and put a hand over mine and it was then that I realized my hands had been trembling in my lap.

"I don't know," I whispered. "I don't know what he wants with me anymore." I took in a deep, shaky breath. "I'm scared."

"I promise you that you are extremely safe here," Kingsley said. "Trust me."

I nodded. I believed him, of course. I knew I was safe. I felt a hell of a lot safer than I normally did. But I still couldn't feel _completely_ safe until I didn't have to worry about Eric anymore.

"And," Kingsley continued, "we'll find not only whoever did this to Noah and his mother, but we'll find Eric as well. And if it just so happens to be the same person, well then that makes things a whole lot easier in a way."

I nodded slightly and continued to stare down at my lap.

"Noah's being buried tomorrow," Kingsley said. "We've finished everything we need to do and he's all set for burial. It's unfortunate that we don't have a body recovered for his mother, but sadly-"

"Can I go?" I asked urgently, my head snapping up to look at him.

Kingsley was quiet for a beat. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said. "Whoever did this, and whoever is after you-Eric or otherwise-he might expect you to go. He might be waiting."

"I could go in disguise," I insisted. "Please. I-"

"Like I said, I don't believe it's safe," Kingsley said, his voice firm. "I'm sorry."

"What if George and I go with her?" Fred suggested.

"I can't ask you to do that," I said quickly. "But I'm sure there are other ways to ensure my safety, but allow me to go. Please, Kingsley." My eyes filled with tears. I couldn't believe I'd resorted to begging. It sounded so pathetic. But if I didn't attend Noah's burial, I'd feel-well, I'd feel disgusting to be quite honest. If it weren't for me, he'd probably still be alive.

Kingsley looked at me sadly and for a moment, he looked to be considering my request. But then he sighed and shook his head. "I think you should stay here."

"I've stayed here for a whole week! A week and a half to be exact!" I cried. "I'm grateful for the protection, honestly I am. I haven't tried to run away or leave. But if I don't go to the burial, I'll feel terrible."

"I'm sorry, Sophie, but my decision is final," Kingsley said, getting to his feet. "I'll be in touch if I have any more questions or if I have any more news." And with that, he said his goodbyes and left. Just like that. I hadnt even gotten to tell him about the theory I'd come up with.

I sat there in my chair, almost dumbly, blinking back tears as I stared aimlessly at the wall across from me.

"Sophie..." Mrs. Weasley began gently. "I'm so sorry, but Kingsley's right. You've already been attacked once and you said yourself that you think Eric wanted to scare you and show you what he's capable of. If you go out unprotected-or even if you were protected-who knows what you might walk into? Like Kingsley said, he could be expecting you to go to the burial. We care about you-we don't want you to get yourself hurt-or worse, killed."

"I'm sorry-I just need a minute," I managed to stutter out, my voice thick with tears.

And with that, I stood up, forcefully pushing my chair back and quickly walking from the room, heading up the creaky wooden steps to the bedroom I'd been staying in-which I still felt weird calling mine. It wasn't mine. I was a guest here and nothing more. I shouldn't have been here. I hated that I'd brought so much on so many innocent people who'd already been through enough of their own hardships. I was a burden, a mess, a walking disaster.

As I stumbled into the bedroom and threw myself down onto the bed, I suddenly thought I was a little more in tune to how Fred must have felt. All of these efforts to protect me and help me were nice and I was appreciative, but they suddenly felt too much and they felt almost undeserved. These people barely knew me and they wanted to help me so badly. I'd walked into their lives and brought a bunch of personal baggage and bad luck and they'd helped me without complaint. I'd led a psychotic man straight to them and two people were dead because of it. Who would be next? I almost _wanted_ to put myself out there and get myself found. I wanted it all to end. I wanted to stop the death count at two because it was two more than necessary.

There was a quiet knock on the door and a moment later, I heard it creak open. Footsteps crossed the room to the bed and I felt the mattress sink down a bit.

"Sophie?" Fred's voice asked, lightly putting a hand on my lower back. I stiffened slightly and I felt his hand freeze before retracting. "Sorry."

I rolled over to face him and peered up at him with watery eyes. "I can't do this anymore," I whispered tearfully, shaking my head as more tears leaked from my eyes and dripped down my cheeks.

Fred reached out and wiped the tears away with his thumb before letting his hand come to rest on the side of my face, his fingertips grazing the side of my neck while his thumb lightly trailed back and forth across my cheek. I was mildly surprised that I actually didn't mind the touch.

"I know more than anyone how this feels," he said quietly. "All this guilt and shame and pressure that you should've done more or done something different." He swallowed and shook his head. "You're not the only one who's ever felt this way. I've gone through it too. And-" He tilted his head towards the diary on my nightstand, "it's also been going on for centuries."

I looked up at him. He did have a point. I may have known all about guilt, but so did Elizabeth and so did Fred. Even his own mother had experiences with guilt.

"If you give up now," Fred whispered, "everything we've done-everything _you've_ done so far will have been for nothing. Don't you want justice? For Noah? For his mother? For _yourself_?"

I continued to stare up at him for a moment before slowly nodding my head.

Fred smiled. "Then you can't give up. Besides, if you give up, you'll officially lose your title as Fred Weasley's role model." He grinned.

"Role model?" I snorted a laugh as I sat up and Fred's hand dropped from my face. "Sure, if you want a role model who's life is a complete _mess."_

That's _exactly_ the kind of role model I want," Fred answered. When I looked at him with raised eyebrows, he laughed. "I'm serious!" he exclaimed, lightly nudging my knee. There was a pause. "Sort of. What I mean is that your life may not be perfect, but no one's is. It's all in how you handle it."

"And I handle it well?" I asked, pulling my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around them as I rested my chin on my knees.

Fred nodded. "You keep fighting. Even when you say you don't want to. Even when you say you're done. You still keep going. You haven't once shut down the same way I did. You've opened up to me—and a lot of other people who want to help you. As much as you say you don't want help, you've accepted it. And as much as _I've_ said I didn't want help, I've done the same. I've let you into my life with that crazy little diary and I've been better for it." He shrugged. "Mind you, I'm still not perfect, but at least I'm not trying to jump into the pond anymore, right?" He smirked at me.

"Don't joke," I whispered, but a tiny smile had appeared on my face.

"Ah, but that's what I do," Fred answered with a smile of his own.

"Well, if what you say is true," I said, "your entire family is _my_ role model. You keep fighting too. You've all been through a lot and you've never given up."

"You sure about that?" Fred scoffed, looking away.

"Yes," I said firmly. "Fred if you'd given up...I don't think you'd be here right now. Which is scary to think about. But I think if you were truly done, you wouldn't have ever allowed _anyone_ to help you. Not your family, not George, not me and not even that diary. But you're getting better." I paused. "When's the last time you got drunk?"

Fred looked at me. "That night you chased me back to my flat after I returned that necklace to you and acted like a nutter over you growing closer to Noah."

"Really?" I asked in surprise, my eyebrows shooting up. "But that was, what, two months ago?"

Fred nodded slowly, his eyes still on mine. "I think I always knew deep down that what I was doing was hurting people," he said. "I didn't know the extent of it and probably just never really cared or thought about it that much. I was selfishly too wrapped up in my own pain to worry about anyone else's."

"I know the feeling," I said. "That's how I felt when I first came here."

Fred shook his head. "You were more concerned with _fixing_ your issues, though. I wasn't. Not for a long time. I just didn't _care_. If I lived or died, I felt like I didn't care. But other people would have. And I never took the time to understand the severity of how my actions affected my family until Mum said she worried about losing another son."

"But that was after the night you gave me back the necklace," I said.

"Right," Fred said. "That night-it was Ginny's birthday party, wasn't it? The realization I had that night was the second one that made me realize I'd become some sort of monster after Percy died. That night made me want to try even harder to get back to my old self. But the first one? Was the night you showed up at the flat. When I moved to grab you and you completely freaked out?"

"Don't remind me," I groaned.

"After you screamed and backed away from me and told me not to touch you, I suddenly thought... _who the hell have I become_? I mean, like I said, I always kind of knew I was a wreck, but I was so engrossed in my own tight downward spiral, that I didn't have time to _comprehend_ much else, especially what it might all mean. But that moment when you freaked out and looked at me with genuine fear-" He swallowed. "That's not me. I'm _not_ that person. I've toed the line _many_ times in my life with jokes and pranks but never crossed it. And you were already so unsure about me, so for a second I thought all I'd done was prove you right. So, in true Fred Weasley fashion, I then decided that I was going to make sure you were proved wrong."

I laughed quietly. "Wonderful. But I've already told you I didn't think you were a bully or a monster and I've already told you why. You've also been incredibly nice to me on many occasions."

Fred sighed and shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, but that one _bad_ instance was one too many. It shouldn't have happened at all. Like I said, that's not me."

I was quiet for a moment. "So..." I finally began, "what you're essentially telling me is that you're getting your life back together mainly because you're stubborn and want to prove a point?"

Fred laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

It was quiet for a moment before I took in a slow breath through my nose and then slowly let it out. "I think someone was pretending to be Noah," I finally said, voicing my theory out loud for the first time. I'd just completely changed the subject and dropped a pretty huge bombshell, but I had to get it off my chest. "I've been doing a lot of thinking and it's the only explanation that makes sense. It seems pretty obvious, actually. I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

"You mean like with Polyjuice Potion or something?" Fred asked.

I nodded. "He died late that Saturday night and he was walking around seemingly alive and well for four days after that. What other explanation could there be?"

"But who would have done that?" Fred asked with a slight frown. "Eric's a Muggle."

"That's what I can't figure out," I said with a sigh. "The only things I can think of is that it's not him after all or that he's getting help from someone who _can_ do magic."

"Which one do you think is more likely?" Fred asked.

I chewed on my lip. "I think Eric could be getting help. It would be too much of a coincidence for Noah to be killed by some random person after I've gotten here and was starting to get close to him. And then Eric showed up in his house, remember? It was after Noah had technically been killed, but it was hours after I'd last seen Noah that night. He could have let any kind of disguise wear off by then..." Suddenly, my mouth dropped open and I felt my face pale. I looked up at Fred with my eyes wide.

"What?" He asked in surprise.

"If the Noah that everyone kept seeing and _talking_ to from Sunday to Tuesday wasn't actually him..." I began. I swallowed and shook my head.

"What?" Fred asked again.

"When I saw Noah on Monday, he was acting more...handsy than usual. Not terribly, but more than usual. And Tuesday when I was at his house, he freaked me out when he pushed me against the wall and kissed me. That's when he got upset that I didn't trust him enoug and went up to bed. If it wasn't actually Noah, then someone _else_ was all over me! And it could've been Eric! I never even considered that until now! I've been so wrapped up in the details of this whole theory that I never thought of what happened between me and Noah during that time." I groaned and closed my eyes for a second before suddenly hurling myself off the bed. "I think I'm going to be sick."

By the time Fred caught up to me in the bathroom, I was embarrassingly and unattractively throwing up my dinner into the toilet. But how beautiful I looked at the moment was the least of my worries.

Once I was done, I immediately turned to the sink, quickly turning on the water full blast. I grabbed the bar of soap from the soap dish and began scrubbing furiously at my arms. I felt grimy, and not just from the fact that I'd thrown up. I felt like every spot fake Noah had touched was disgusting. _Especially_ if fake Noah had been Eric. Every inch of my skin felt like it was crawling.

"Hey," Fred said quietly, stepping towards me and reaching for the soap in my hand.

I pulled away from him, backing myself into the wall, still frantically scrubbing at my arms. "I want him _off_ of me," I said, tears coming to my eyes again. "I want him _gone."_

"Soph," Fred whispered, taking another step closer to me. "Stop for a second and just breathe. Please." He waited a moment as I took in one slow breath after another to try and calm myself down.

Once my hand had stilled in trying to clean my arm, Fred slowly reaching out and hovering his hand over mine. "Let me take this from you," he continued, his voice still quiet.

I let him pull the soap from my hand and then crossed my arms over my chest as he placed it back by the sink.

"I'm sorry. I just feel...gross," I said.

"I get it," Fred said.

"No, you don't," I said. "How could you?"

Fred sighed and slowly sat down on the edge of the tub. "Okay, you're right. Maybe I don't get it. But what I do know is that you're still trying to get over being traumatized by things that happened back in your foster home. I've noticed you've gotten a lot better. You stiffen or pull away only sometimes. You eventually let Noah _kiss_ you, didn't you? You're allowing yourself to trust again, which is something that your foster father tore away from you. Your ability to trust. You were just starting to get that back. And now you find out that one of the people you were allowing yourself to trust and even possibly have feelings for was not only murdered, but somebody could have been posing as him and that person could have been your foster father. It makes even _my_ stomach turn, so I'm not judging your reaction. But _you_ are not the gross one. Eric is. Or whoever else played any kind of part in this."

"I was going to tell Kingsley my theory tonight," I whispered. "But I didn't even get a chance to. Do you think he's considered it himself but just hasn't said anything?"

"Maybe," Fred shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't think Eric could do something like this because he's not magical. It seems crazy and a little terrifying that he'd be able to find you not only here in England, but at the Leaky Cauldron and that he'd be able to make a Polyjuice Potion, which is pretty difficult to make."

"But what if he had help?" I asked impatiently.

"Sure, I suppose he could have," Fred said. "But who?"

"No idea. It could be anyone, if he threatened them enough."

"I think anyone here would've laughed in his face," Fred said. "Threats from some Muggle bloke aren't as terrifying when you're holding one of these." He pulled out his wand and twirled it between his fingers.

"Maybe he didn't threaten them," I said. "Maybe he tricked them."

Fred looked at me. "Maybe," he said. "You know him better than I do. But we have no proof."

"Then we should get some," I said fiercely.

Fred laughed. "I admire your ambition, I really do. But I think you should relax first." He leaned over and turned on the faucet in the tub. "You probably _should_ take a proper bath. You kind of smell like vomit."

"Really? I wonder why that could be," I commented with a snort as I pulled out my own wand and waved it over the toilet bowl, cleaning the mess instantly.

Fred smiled and stood up before making his way towards the door. "You should know where everything is by now," he said. "Make yourself comfortable. Relax."

I nodded as I watched him step into the hallway and start to shut the door. "Fred?" I said before he could shut it all the way.

"Yeah?" he asked, sticking his head back inside the room.

"If you could maybe...not tell anyone else about what just happened? You know...my little lapse of sanity. It was embarrassing enough as it is..."

Fred looked at me for a moment. "Soph, the last person you have to worry about being embarrassed in front of is me," he said. "I've behaved way worse under stress and grief, remember? And as for my family...they've _seen_ the way I've behaved. Hell, they've seen George and I do crazy things even when we're not upset. They've never judged." He paused for a second as he let me process that. "But in any case, I won't tell them. It's not something for me to tell. But just keep what I said in mind, yeah? Everyone needs _someone_ who they can trust with all the hairy parts of their lives."

I smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Fred," I whispered.

He smiled back and nodded before shutting the door all the way with a click.

* * *

 _July 16th, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts._

 _Tomorrow, Dorothy will be losing her mother. She has no idea as of yet, but tomorrow morning, Sarah will be dragged from her cell, loaded into a wagon with a group of other convicted townspeople, and taken to a ledge in the woods of Salem. A ledge where, hanging from a strong tree branch, a noose swings back and forth as if it was taunting its victims._

 _I am trying to be brave, but I am so afraid. I am afraid for what will become of Dorothy. She will remain here, in jail, alone in her cell. She has not been convicted of anything, but her father is too poor to pay for her release. She will probably be moved to one of the smaller cells now that her mother will be gone. I dread the idea of her being moved away from me. Somewhere where I cannot do what I can to help her. I am not sure I help much, but I try. I fear what being here alone will do to her-it will surely damage her more than being here for this long already has damaged her already._

 _Secondly, I am fearful for myself and my own child. Once I give birth in January, I will face the same fate as Sarah. Unless I can figure out a way to stop it._

 _Fortunately, I have a lot of free time being locked in my cell, which means I have a lot of free time to plan escape plans._

 _Unfortunately, nearly every one of them ends badly. I go through plan after plan in my head, all of them involving me grabbing Dorothy and getting out of Salem. Running away. Because if we do escape, we will surely be followed. So for one, I have to be through with an escape plan. I have to be absolutely certain that once we run, we will never be found. I cannot afford to take risks. And the second problem is finding a way to even make it out of this jail._

 _The non-magical folk of this town, though they have been cruel and very misinformed on many things, they are not entirely dense. They have made sure to keep our wrists bound by iron shackles at all times. Iron has been known to mess with a witch or wizard's magic. We even stick to copper or pewter cauldrons for that reason._

 _So, essentially, I feel quite useless. Regardless of what the shackles are made of, I don't even have basic use of my hands. Writing is a struggle, but as I've said, I manage. If not, I would surely have gone insane by now._

 _I have one object with me, hidden away behind the loose stone in the cell wall (where I also store this diary), that could possibly be of some use. But I would just have to figure out how to use it. For one, it would be tricky to operate without full use of my hands and arms. Secondly, it will only aid me in not being seen. I can still be heard-and it is hard to stay quiet when you are clad in loud metal. Additionally, the door to my cell is shut most of the time. And when it opens in those brief moments where food is brought to me, it is only for a second, and a guard takes up the whole doorway._

 _And then there is the case of how I would get to Dorothy. The object I have would only help one of us-for a few reasons. It is a necklace, first of all, and not big enough to fit around both of our necks. It's a dainty little thing-a delicate silver chain with a small teardrop shaped pearl hanging from it. But even if the chain did fit around us both, I suppose it would restrict our movements too much. And even then, its magic would only work for me, not Dorothy._

 _The necklace belonged to my grandmother, Ann. She charmed it with quite a few different charms and spells, one of them being a Disillusionment Charm. But the thing is-she charmed it so that the necklace will make the wearer invisible-just as long as they are a blood relative. So it will make me unable to be seen, but will do nothing for anyone else. Not even my husband._

 _I have never felt more useless and frustrated. I know it is not possible to save everyone, but I am to become a mother this winter and I am already expected to fail at motherhood shortly after giving birth. I am expected to leave my child an orphan. I can hardly bear the thought._

 _This morning, Sarah and I were whispering through the loose stone between our cells. I asked her if she was afraid. She said very. But she is determined not to show it. For her daughter. And so that she can hold on to whatever little bit of dignity she has left._

 _She did ask me to promise her something. I said anything. She asked me to take care of her daughter. I asked her how she expected me to do that when I was in the same position that she was. She was quiet for a moment before she said, "Lizzie, if I thought anyone had a chance of getting out of here, it would be you."_

 _"Why do you think that?" I asked her.  
_

 _"You do not like it when the ones you love are in danger. And you do not take no for an answer," she replied. "You are very strong and tougher than you think. You have to be. Running the tavern the way you do. All kinds of people have passed through that place. You show every single one of them kindness, but if they ever step out of line in any way, you put them right back in their place. I admire you for it."  
_

 _My eyes were filled with tears at this point. But I managed to tell her that I promised to do everything in my power to make sure Dorothy stayed safe._

 _I made her a promise and I refuse to break it. It would be an insult to Sarah and our friendship if I did not at least try my hardest._

 _The sun has almost set. I am losing light fast and soon will not be able to see enough to write. But I know that once I stop, the daunting realization of what the morning brings will set in for good and my heart will become heavier than it already is._

 _But in about twelve more hours, a piece of it will be missing. A piece will be missing, but it will not feel any less heavy._


	23. Chapter 23

Fifteen minutes after reading Elizabeth's latest diary entry, I was sitting on the floor, multiple discarded items from my bag surrounding me. Actually, it was nearly the entire contents of my bag. I had hastily dug through it, flinging things out every which way in search of one item. The item that I was now holding in my hands and staring down at while my heart pounded: the necklace.

My mind had been working so hard to make sense of everything that it felt like it wasn't working at all anymore. It was just blank. The necklace Elizabeth had described in her diary entry had sounded _exactly_ like the one I was holding now. The very same one that had been snuck into my bag by some mysterious, cryptic woman I'd never met. The same one that Bill had checked for curses and the same one that the mystery woman had been so curious to know if I'd worn yet. I hadn't, after all this time, mostly out of fear. It had come back safe, according to Bill, but I was so distrusting and confused by that woman-especially after she'd asked if I'd worn it-that I'd still been afraid to place it around my neck. But now I had an answer-a possible one, at least-as to what it did. It would make the wearer invisible, but only so long as they were a blood relative of Elizabeth. So logically, nothing would happen to me when I put the necklace on.

But then why did I feel so nervous? I _couldn't_ be related to Elizabeth. It just wasn't possible. But then again, what did I know? For all I knew, it could be possible. Her diary and now her necklace-given that it was even the same one-had both been given to me by people I didn't even know. Did they know something I didn't? And if they did, then _how_? How could they know more about my ancestry than I did?

Trembling slightly, I pushed myself to my feet and turned towards the mirror, the necklace still in my hands, threaded between my fingers. I swallowed thickly as I unclasped the chain, holding it up, poised just in front of my neck. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment that would tell me whether or not I'd gone absolutely insane.

I closed my eyes and brought the two ends of the chain to meet at the back of my neck as I clasped it. When I was done, I kept my eyes closed and slid my fingers down the length of the chain until they stopped at the small pearl pendant.

Inhaling shakily, I counted slowly to three and opened my eyes, unsure if I wanted to see my own reflection or not once I did.

It took me a second to register what I was seeing once I did open my eyes. Nothing. I saw nothing. I was standing in front of the mirror, but had no reflection. I had gone _invisible_.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I took a few steps forward and slowly extended my hand, lightly touching my fingertips to the glass of the mirror. I leaned forward until my nose was almost touching it. I saw my breath fog up the glass, but I couldn't see my face.

And then just like that, time, movement and my own thoughts seemed to speed up again and I whirled around, away from the mirror, fumbling to unclasp the necklace. It took me a bit and I let out a swear. Just as I was about to rip it from my neck, it came undone. I held it in my fist as I quickly left the room, pausing only to grab the diary from my bed. I descended the stairs, rushing out the back door. I was grateful that Mrs. Weasley was upstairs, putting away some laundry so that I didn't have to pass by her as I ran outside, but I was fairly certain she must have heard my loud, frantic steps and the slam of the door.

I didn't even fully realize where I was headed until I was practically bounding down the wooden dock that jutted out over the Burrow's pond. I had my arm up, ready to toss both the necklace and the diary straight into the water, but something stopped me and I froze. I lowered my hand and held the necklace in front of my face, staring at it intently as I slowly sat down at the edge of the dock, leaning against the wooden post at the front corner and stretching my legs out across the old, worn wood.

I frowned down at the necklace as I fiddled with it. Part of me did want to get rid of it and the diary and just put an end to all this, but part of me knew there really wouldn't be an end. Not when it had already begun. I could get rid of the physical objects, but I couldn't erase what had just happened from my mind and I couldn't get rid of the knowledge of what it meant.

It just couldn't be possible. It just _couldn't_ be. I was having trouble wrapping my head around it. Understandably. I had millions of questions. Also understandably. And I just wasn't sure who could give me answers. The one person who came to mind was the mystery woman who'd given me the necklace in the first place. She'd been curious to know if I'd worn it or not, which made me think she knew what would happen. And she'd also dropped that postcard at the twins' joke shop. The ripped one of the ice rink. The same one I'd had so long ago.

How could this woman seemingly know these things about me? How could she know things-like my family history-that I didn't even know myself. I'd never seen this woman before and I didn't know how to find her now. I figured that was what had stopped me from discarding the necklace, though. The fact that I wanted answers. If I wanted to figure this out, I probably shouldn't get rid of the thing that had contributed to a massive part of this mystery. But the problem still remained that I didn't know who this woman was, I didn't know her name and I didn't know how to find her. What good was that? And even if I did know any or all of those things, I was pretty much confined to the Burrow.

I had probably been sitting out on the dock for close to an hour, staring down at the water lost in thought, when a loud clicking noise caught my attention. I jumped slightly and looked around to see Fred crouched down at the other end of the dock, a camera held up to his face and aimed at me.

"Fred..." I began wearily. While I once upon a time had been really into _taking_ pictures, I wasn't typically in the mood to be _in_ them. Especially now.

Fred lowered the camera from his face and gave me a tiny, lopsided smile as he shrugged. "I just thought it was too good of a photo opportunity to pass up. Maybe you'll agree with me once it's developed."

"Doubtful," I snorted, looking away again.

"Mum's started dinner," Fred went on, heading down the dock and sitting down across from me, leaning against the opposite wooden post. "She didn't know where you'd gotten off to. She said she thought she heard you run out of the house earlier in quite a rush."

"How did _you_ know where to find me, then?" I asked.

"If you'll recall, this was _my_ sulking spot first," Fred said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It faded after a moment and he raised an eyebrow at me. "So, go on, then. Tell me. What's wrong?"

I looked at him for a moment before slowly handing him the diary. Whether I liked it or not, Fred was part of this now too. "Read the latest entry," I said.

He held my gaze as he took the tattered book from my hands and opened it. Finally, he lowered his eyes to the page and began to read. I watched his face for the sign of realization. The sign that he recognized the necklace Elizabeth had described. Eventually, I saw him frown in confusion and bite his lip. And then finally, he slowly shut the diary and looked up at me.

"It's not possible for it to be the same necklace," he said. "Bill checked it, remember? Nothing showed up. So if that's what you're worried about-"

"I already tried the necklace on, Fred," I told him.

"Oh," he said, swallowing. "But nothing happened, right? It couldn't have. Even if it was the same necklace, there's no way you could be..."

He trailed off as I sighed and stood up, shifting my hair out of the way and clasping the necklace around my neck again. The second I did, Fred's mouth dropped open as he stared up at me-or at least the spot where I'd disappeared.

"Bloody _hell_ ," he whispered, slowly pushing himself to his feet and stepping closer. "Um-where are you?" he asked, holding up a hand and slowly extending it towards the spot I was standing in.

"Right here," I said, reaching out and pressing my palm to his. Fred stared at his hand- _our_ hands-for a second, his eyes wide as he shook his head.

"It's not possible," he said. "It can't be."

"I thought that too," I said. "But apparently it is. And I have no proof that says it's not."

"But you have no proof that says it _is_ ," Fred said.

"Fred, you're looking at it," I argued. "Or...not." I pulled my hand back from his and unclasped the necklace, returning myself into view.

"This isn't proof of anything," Fred said. "It could be some elaborate trick to get you to believe what someone wants you to believe. It could be Eric playing games with you."

"I'm not sure he's the type to play games," I said. "And why would he? Why would he sneak me that diary and the necklace and why would he want me to think I'm related to Elizabeth? And most of all, how would he get these things?" I gestured to the necklace and diary. "Fake or not, I'm not sure he'd be the type to put in all this effort."

"Either way, you need answers, don't you think?" Fred asked.

"I do," I answered. "I just don't know how to get them. The woman who gave me the necklace-I don't know where to find her or what her name is or why she'd be doing this."

"Well then we have to find her," Fred said firmly. "Assuming this is true-that you're Elizabeth's...whatever relation you are to her, well, not only do you deserve an explanation, but this lady might also have some information on your mother."

"Fred, don't," I said. "We've already hit one dead end with trying to find out what happened to her."

"It wasn't a dead end. I wanted to go back to Salem and-"

"Fred, stop," I said firmly, taking a step back from him. "Stop."

"You don't want to go back," he said quietly.

"I spent so much time trying to _leave_ Salem," I said, shaking my head. "And I think going back is what Eric wants me to do anyway. Of course, I'm not _entirely_ sure what he wants or what he'd do to me if he found me, but the one thing I do know is that he doesn't want me _here_. He never wanted me to leave Salem in the first place. Besides, weren't you the one who thought this whole thing could've been a trap set up by him to get me to go back there?"

Fred didn't answer. Instead, he just stared down at me, lost in thought. "I thought you wanted answers."

I let out a breath of laughter and shrugged. "I do, but mostly about this diary and the necklace and what it all means. Not so much about the past. But most of all I just want this all to _stop_ ," I said, throwing my arms out to the side and letting them flap back to my side. "I want everything to be over. I want to live a _normal_ life. And it just so happens that I have to figure this out once and for all in order to do that. I just don't know where to begin."

Fred took another step closer to me. "We have to find that woman," he said quietly. "She's a great place to start."

"Yeah, but _how_?" I asked.

Fred thought about it for a second. "Well she seems to show up wherever _you_ are. Obviously."

"Okay but she can't show up here. We've got loads of protection spells up. And we are _not_ taking them down and luring her here. I won't do that to your family after they were kind enough to take me in."

"That's not what I was going to suggest," Fred said with a slight smile. "I was going to say we take you outside of the charms."

"But we cant! Kingsley wouldn't even allow me to leave to go to Noah's burial."

"Nobody has to know," Fred said.

"If someone were to see me leave, or if Eric really _is_ watching and sees me around—"

"Sophie," Fred interrupted with a slight laugh. "You have a necklace that makes you _invisible._ "

"Oh," I said, glancing down at said necklace. "Right. But still...Someone would notice I'm gone. I'm usually alone with your mother all day. I help her around the house. She'd notice."

Fred seemed to think about that for a moment before he grinned. "Not if she thinks you're sick in bed."

"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

Fred began rummaging in his pocket, pulling out a few loose coins, a crumpled Drooble's Bubble Gum wrapper, some string and even a green marble before finally exclaiming, "Aha! There it is. I thought I had one in here."

"One of what?" I asked.

Fred turned back to me and held out a small object in a purple and orange wrapper. "Puking Pastil. Actually-hang on." He started digging through his other pocket and eventually came up with another item similar to the first, but wrapped in red and yellow. "I've got Fever Fudge as well. Take your pick. Although, might I suggest taking both for more of an effect?"

I blinked at him for a moment. "These are from your joke shop," I said. "The sweets that make you sick when you eat one half, and cure you when you eat the other."

Fred nodded. "They are. What do you say? You take one or both of the sweets, let Mum think you're really sick, then you take the curing half and sneak out with me. We'll spend the day looking for that mystery woman."

"Fred, how stupid do you think your mother is?" I asked with a slight smile.

"It has nothing to do with her intelligence, but everything to do with how _nice_ you typically are. You've been trustworthy this whole time without ever trying to leave the house or run away. You've really hit it off with my mother. You help her with chores for Merlin's sake. She wouldn't suspect you trying to trick her. You're like a little angel."

I instinctively reached my hand around to my back, stretching my fingers up towards the spots where my scars were. Or, as Martha had called them, my angel wings.

"I don't know if I can betray her trust like that," I whispered.

Fred smiled. "See? You _are_ an angel." He held the two wrapped candies out to me. "Think about it at least."

Hesitantly, I reached out and took them before slipping them into my pocket, even though I had my mind set on not using them. "Fred, your parents-they didn't have to take me in. They didn't have to put their family in this position, especially after what's already happened." I stopped as Fred flinched slightly. "But they did. They're great people. They're the second people, after Tom and Martha, who have treated me as if I was their own child. I can't believe I've been lucky enough to get that twice here, after being so unlucky back home. I almost can't believe it's real. And to put all that in jeopardy-to risk losing it-"

"You _won't_ ," Fred said. "Listen, if my parents can forgive George and I for all the crazy things _we've_ done, they can forgive you for sneaking out to find answers about your past."

"I'm not sure about that," I said quietly.

"Believe me," Fred said, "George and I have done some things that to this day, _we_ still find pretty legendary, but talking about them will make Mum smoke at the ears all over again. We've stolen dad's enchanted, flying car to break Harry out of his house. We tricked Harry's cousin into eating a Ton-Tongue Toffee, which caused his tongue to grow to four feet long before Dad was able to shrink it. We dropped out of school, which I have never regretted for a day, but I thought Mum would _never_ forgive us for that."

"Yeah, but me leaving after-"

"Percy left us," Fred interrupted, his voice suddenly stiff. "Remember? He walked out on us because his head had gotten too big for him to even _think_ clearly anymore. If you want to talk about betrayal, let's talk about the day he walked out and he told Dad that he had no ambition and that if only he did, our family wouldn't have always been so bloody poor."

"He said that?" I asked quietly.

Fred nodded. "It was the nastiest argument I'd ever heard. Dad hardly ever yells. Rarely, actually. It's usually Mum. But he was mad that day with Percy. And when Percy came back- _months_ later-all was forgiven. Pretty much instantly. All of us forgave him."

"Percy's _family_ , though. It's different. I'm-I'm not _really_ family, no matter how much they've treated me like I am."

"Don't think it matters to Mum. Honestly, I think she's got a thing for orphans. She can't help herself. If one crosses her path, she immediately makes them unofficially hers. Just ask Harry." He smirked slightly. "She probably would've adopted him if he hadn't started snogging my sister."

"Fred, honestly," I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

Fred shrugged. "Like I said, give the plan some thought," he said. "Think about what you told me. You justified us forgiving Percy for walking out on us because he's family. If we can get you some answers and find out what happened to your mother, it'll be one step closer to you forgiving her. It'll be one step closer to you making peace with what happened."

"I _have_ made peace with it."

"You've _accepted_ it on the most basic level," Fred argued. "Accepted it as just the way things are. There's a difference. How can you be at peace with her leaving when you don't even know the reason why?"

I didn't answer him. Instead, I crossed my arms and looked down at the ground, digging my toe as hard as I could into the wood of the dock.

"Also," Fred went on, his voice suddenly quiet, "thank you for talking about Percy in the present tense."

"What?" I asked, looking up at him in confusion.

"You said Percy _is_ family, not Percy _was_ family," Fred clarified.

"Well, yeah, of course. Just because he's dead doesn't mean he's no longer your family."

Fred smiled at me, almost knowingly. "Exactly." He was quiet for another minute before speaking again. "And you know what? People talking about him in the past tense got old really quick. I may have not liked talking about him for a long time-and it's still weird now-but when people did talk about him, using the past tense made it ten times worse. Either way, both things were an insult to his memory. You were right when you told me that and Ginny was right too. We can't forget about him. If we all stop talking about him, he might as well be dying a second death."

I didn't have an answer to that. He had a point. But part of what he'd said had been repeating my own words back to me. I had told him not to forget about Percy and not to ignore what had happened. So why shouldn't I take my own advice and stop ignoring my own past. Facing it would be painful and exhausting, but thinking that over now, it seemed like such a cowardly excuse. And wasn't I always saying I was tired of being afraid?

I looked up at Fred. "I'm in," I said. "I'll spend a day with you trying to track down mystery woman. But when people start getting upset, I'm blaming you." I smiled slightly.

"Can we try to pin the blame on Ron?" Fred replied with a teasing smile.

I shook my head. "Your idea, your consequences."

Fred didn't answer. Instead, he just stared back at me, still smiling. Finally he seemed to remember something and quickly glanced down at the camera in his hands, holding it out to me.

"I almost forgot. This is for you."

"For me?" I repeated, taking it from him. "What for?"

"You mentioned you used to like taking pictures, didn't you?" he said. "So much that you wanted to do it professionally, yeah?"

"That was a long time ago," I said.

"But do you still like to do it?" Fred asked.

I thought that over for a moment as I studied the camera, wondering where Fred had gotten it. It was nice and it looked brand new, actually. "I'm not sure," I finally said, in response to his question, trailing my fingers over the camera as I continued to study it. "I haven't done it in so long."

"Well now you can find out," he said.

"Fred, did you _buy_ this specifically for me?" I asked, finally looking up at him.

"Maybe, maybe not," he shrugged. "And if I did, so what?" He stuck his hands in his pockets as he turned to face the pond, ambling to the edge of the dock and standing with the toes of his shoes lined up perfectly against the edge.

"You shouldn't be wasting your hard earned money on me," I told him.

Fred glanced over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows at me. "Something's only a waste if it doesn't serve a purpose." He turned so that his back was to the lake again, but this time backing up slightly so his heels were jutting over the dock as he balanced on the balls of his feet, throwing his arms out to the side slightly to help keep his balance.

"You're going to fall in," I told him.

Fred rolled his eyes as the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "Good thing I know how to swim, then."

"I mean it, Fred," I told him, holding up the camera. "You really shouldn't have done this."

"Yeah, well, I'm always doing things I shouldn't," he argued, still balancing on the edge of the dock.

"Merlin, you're impossible," I sighed.

Fred looked up at me again, that lazy smirk on his face that I'd come to know as somewhat of a trademark of his. "I know," he replied simply.

We just stared at each other for a moment before I let out a breath of laughter, smiled back at him, and then held up the camera and snapped a quick picture.

"Now we're even," I said as Fred looked at me in surprise.

A second later, his mouth turned up into a smile as he finally stepped away from the edge of the dock. "I hope you got my good side," he teased.

"Your whole face is in it," I said. "And both sides look the same to me."

Fred laughed. "And how _does_ my face look to you?"

I looked away and fiddled with the camera, unsure how to answer that. Of _course_ he was good looking, but did I want to tell him that?

"Normal," I finally answered lamely.

"Normal?" Fred repeated. He let out a low whistle. "Way to shatter someone's self confidence, Soph."

"It's not like I said you were ugly," I said hotly, turning and heading back down the dock, away from him.

"No, but _normal_?" He laughed as he jogged to catch up to me. "I called you pretty and you tell me I'm just _normal_."

"When did you call me pretty?" I asked, stopping short and whirling around, causing Fred to nearly crash into me. I took a few steps back and looked at him.

"The day I met you," he said. "Remember? I said I was surprised that you'd been at the Leaky Cauldron for a month and that George and I hadn't noticed you because we usually notice pretty girls right away."

"Oh," I scoffed, waving my hand nonchalantly and turning around to continue my walk back to the Burrow. "That doesn't mean anything. You didn't even know me then. You were just trying to-"

"Trying to what?" Fred asked, catching up to me again. "Meaninglessly hit on you? Tell you you're pretty as a joke? Soph, first of all, I didn't have to know you to see that you're pretty. And sure, I've done my fair share of flirting and hitting on girls before, but someone complimenting you isn't always going to be meant as a joke. I was with Angelina for three years. You _know_ that. I loved her."

"Your point?" I asked, picking up my pace slightly and keeping my eyes trained on the Burrow.

"I'm capable of actually maintaining a relationship," he said. "I don't take relationships as a joke. It's one of the few things I actually take seriously. I think you're pretty. End of story. Nothing else to it. It was just a comment-a _compliment_. Maybe it was a little bit flirty, but what can I say? But I wasn't trying to take advantage of you or accomplish anything by saying it. And I wasn't _lying_."

I finally stopped in my tracks and thought over what Fred had said. I actually believed him. But my guard was always up and letting it down, however slowly, was a terrifying process. It left me feeling open, exposed, unsafe and afraid. I swallowed before turning to look at Fred. "Thank you," I finally said simply. "And maybe...maybe you're, um-"

"Dashingly handsome?" Fred asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

I rolled my eyes.

"I appreciate the effort," Fred went on, smiling at me. "It took a lot to even thank me for the compliment, didn't it?"

I shrugged.

"Come on, I thought we were moving past the silence, Soph," he laughed.

I responded by holding up the camera and snapping another photo of his laughing face before turning and resuming my walk to the Burrow.


	24. Chapter 24

It didn't take long for Fred to fill George in on the plan. Only a few moments after we returned to the Burrow, Fred passed me as I was helping set the table and whispered, "George is in," into my ear.

"Why am I not surprised?" I asked with a tiny smile as I continued my task of setting out silverware. "I don't think I've ever seen you two away from each other for more than ten minutes."

Fred smiled back and leaned backwards against the edge of the table, crossing his arms and looking down at me. I had finished with the silverware, but now he was blocking my way, so I reached down and began fiddling with the table setting at the seat I was standing in front of. I straightened the napkin and smoothed it out before fixing the corner of it. I adjusted the plate slightly to the right and straightened the silverware.

"Just going on pure observation here," Fred said raising his eyebrows as he watched me, "but you seem nervous. Honestly, Soph, what's the worst that can happen by you sneaking out?"

I finally looked up at him, my expression one of complete disbelief. "Are you serious?" I asked, my voice shrill. "One of us could very well end up dead."

"Well, that's dramatic," Fred snorted. He then quickly became serious. "I'm sorry," he added. "It's not dramatic. Noah and his mother are both dead and you've been running away from Eric for a long time. You're scared and he's dangerous. I know that. I just—"

"You're used to laughing in the face of danger," I said, turning away. "I know."

"Sophie," Fred said quietly, reaching out to grab my hand. "If Eric shows up-tomorrow or ever-I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

I looked down at his hand on mine before looking back up at his face. Part of me was still figuring him out, still getting used to his relaxed attitude and his jokes. But I trusted him and when he said he'd protect me, I actually believed him. "Thanks," I whispered.

Fred smiled softly and released my hand.

Over dinner, he and George let their mother know they'd be staying at the Burrow overnight. They brought it up so casually, telling her they were doing it to keep me company-they figured I'd been lonely with little to no contact with people my own age. Meanwhile, I was trying not to get my bite of chicken lodged in my suddenly dry-with-nerves throat.

Luckily, Mrs. Weasley bought it. She even told them it was a thoughtful idea and that they were sweet. It made my stomach churn because all of this was part of some kind of sneaky plan to betray her. I almost wanted to back out.

"You know," Ginny said, " _I'm_ here visiting at least three times a week."

"Yeah, but surely Sophie's sick of looking at you by now," Fred said, lazily picking up his wand and deflecting the glob of potatoes Ginny had hurled at him with her spoon.

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley scolded. " _Behave_ at the table, please." She looked at Fred. "Both of you."

Ginny ignored her mother and kept talking to Fred. "What makes you think looking at you is much better?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You and George are the biggest pair of _monkeys_."

"Why are you dragging _me_ into this?" George asked through a mouthful of potatoes.

"Ginny-" Mrs. Weasley began.

"Right," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes slightly. "Don't rile Fred."

The table was silent for a moment before Fred spoke again. "If I'm a monkey, you're a monkey."

I glanced over at him to see him looking at Ginny, the corner of his mouth hitched up in a smile. She looked back at him, her eyebrow raised again. "Excuse me?"

"We're related."

"I'm guessing now's a bad time to tell you you're adopted," Ginny fired back.

"Weird, I thought Ron was adopted," Fred said thoughtfully.

"I thought it was Charlie," Ron chimed in.

"Charlie told me that _Bill_ was adopted," George went on, effortlessly carrying on the joke.

"Ah, no, that's right-it was Percy," Fred said. He said it completely casually, but the whole room fell into shocked silence, even Ginny. But Fred just smiled slightly. "It had to have been Percy. I always thought he was part owl. With those glasses and all..."

"Maybe we're _all_ adopted," George said, a smile coming over his face as he looked at Fred.

"None of you are adopted," Mrs. Weasley said fondly, blinking back the tears I could see in her eyes. "We're all a _family_." She looked around the table at everyone and beamed, taking in one member of her family after another.

I looked down at my lap, feeling slightly uncomfortable. It was a sweet moment, especially after how much they had gone through as a family. But I was almost feeling just how much I stuck out at that moment. Me and Harry, who was sitting across the table from me. I glanced up and met his eyes. His mouth twitched into a smile as if he were fighting a laugh and I knew he realized the same thing I did. That were were the only two non-Weasleys here. Except he'd grown up with them. He was _marrying_ one, for Merlin's sake. He essentially was one. Me, however...I didn't think I truly belonged.

"And then, of course, we have our family members through marriage," Mr. Weasley went on. "Fleur, and shortly Harry as well."

"And Hermione if only Ron would get a move on," George said as Ron turned a deep pink and turned his attention to his plate.

"And then there's Sophie," Fred said, beaming at me.

I looked up in surprise. "What?"

"You heard me," he said. "You hang out with us regularly and you actually _live_ here now. You're one of us. Soon your hair will turn red, freckles will appear all over your body and you'll have fully morphed into a Weasley."

I couldn't help it-I laughed.

"But the induction into the family isn't complete without a Weasley Christmas sweater, isn't that right, Mum?" Ginny asked.

"A Weasley Christmas sweater?" I asked.

"Mum knits us all sweaters every Christmas," Ron said. "I always get maroon."

"I think Ginny mentioned those, actually," I said. I looked at Mrs. Weasley. "How many do you knit?"

"Last Christmas I made eleven," she said. "One for everyone-including Fleur, Hermione, Harry...and I couldn't bring myself to skip over Percy. I'm so used to it and it was our first Christmas without him..." She stared aimlessly at the wall for a moment before looking at me. "Do you know how to knit, dear?"

"Mum, how old do you think Sophie is?" Fred snorted. "Eighty?"

"Fred Weasley, are you implying that I'm _old_ because I knit?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Not at all, Mum," Fred said quickly, going back to his dinner.

"I don't know how to knit," I told Mrs. Weasley. "Neither magically nor the Muggle way. But I'd love to learn."

"Oh, I could teach you!" Mrs. Weasley said eagerly. "I usually get started on the sweaters fairly early. Around early November. There are so many to make and even with magic, it takes a little bit and there are always the other holiday preparations to worry about so I try to start early to get them done before the rush of the season." She was talking quickly now and she finally turned to look at me. "You really want to learn? No one's ever expressed an interest before."

Fred rolled his eyes. "No, I can't see why your family of predominantly _males_ would want to learn how to knit," Fred said.

"My, my, you are _certainly_ on a roll with the jokes and sarcasm tonight, young man," Mrs. Weasley said. Her face softened. "I like it."

"You _like_ it?" Fred asked. "That is a first coming from you."

Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "Oh, hush," she said quietly.

"I'd love for you to teach me," I whispered, looking down at my hands and fiddling with them before glancing at her. "Given that I'm still here by November and that you'll have me."

"Of course I would!" Mrs. Weasley said. "As Fred was so kind to point out, this is a predominantly male family. It's nice having other women around sometimes. Just so I know that I'm not going _completely_ insane." She smiled warmly at me. "I've loved having you here, Sophie. Not just because you're another girl, but because you've been such a pleasure to have. You've kept me company during the day now that my once full house is empty of children. You've helped around the house more than you know. You actually enjoy letting me teach you how to cook and now how to knit. And you're a wonderful listener when I feel like talking about, well, life."

I stared at her, trying to stop the tears that were welling up behind my own eyes. "Really?" I asked.

"Really," Mrs. Weasley said softly.

"Oh, bloody hell," the twins said in unison. They both stood up and began to clear their plates from the table. "We're clearing out before the emotions get underway."

"Motion seconded," Ron agreed, getting up as well, Harry and Mr. Weasley joining him a second later.

"Men," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes.

I looked back down at my plate, feeling slightly embarrassed, but smiling nonetheless.

But now, after all the nice things Mrs. Weasley had said about me, how could I lie to her tomorrow?

* * *

Later that night, I stood right outside Fred and George's bedroom door, anxiously fiddling with the Fever Fudge and the Puking Pastil that Fred had given me. I wanted to talk to them about using them-or, rather, _not_ using them.

I simply couldn't make up my mind. I wanted- _needed_ , actually-to talk to that mystery lady. I did need answers. I deserved them, after all that had happened. And the only way to get these answers was to leave the Burrow because as wonderful as it was here, it wasn't going to help me tie up every single loose end that had been hanging pretty much since I'd arrived here.

I had spent a good amount of time after dinner wracking my brain for another way of doing this without having to lie to Mrs. Weasley, but couldn't think of anything. I could always just _leave_ , but that might be worse. Besides, the whole point of me faking sick was to give me a reason to be left alone upstairs. Although, I had wondered if believing I was sick would cause Mrs. Weasley to leave me totally alone. I had a feeling she'd try to dote on me and take care of me anyway, which made the thought of betraying her that much worse.

But how was I going to articulate my thoughts to Fred when I could barely articulate them to myself? I'd thought he'd be a good sounding board and that even if I babbled, he'd get it. I'd thought his creative brain could come up with an alternative plan. So I'd wound up here, outside his bedroom door.

I raised a fist up to it to knock, but stopped for a second and bit my lip. What was I so afraid of? That he'd be offended? Or mad at me? I was being ridiculous. I just had to do it. Just knock on the door and tell him I couldn't go through with the plan. I suddenly couldn't tell which option was more awful. Going through with the plan and betraying Mrs. Weasley or not going through with it and being a complete coward.

Before I could do anything else, the door suddenly flew open to reveal Fred, who jumped and let out a few curse words.

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I was just on the way to the toilet-you're lucky I didn't wet myself," Fred joked. "What are you doing lurking around out here anyway?"

"I don't lurk," I said indignantly.

"Then what to you call standing in a dark hallway _right_ outside someone's bedroom door?"

"Standing in a dark hallway right outside someone's door," I shrugged.

Fred smiled. "Funny," he said lightly. "But okay, fine. Regardless, the question still stands. What are you doing out here?"

"I wanted to talk to you," I said.

"Okay," Fred answered slowly. He stood back from the door to let me in. "Make yourself comfortable. Socialize with George-I'll be back before you can say Bludger."

He jogged off to the bathroom while I wandered over to the window seat and sat down, looking up at George as I did.

"Are you okay?" George asked me gently.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"You're having second thoughts about sneaking out, aren't you?" he asked.

I averted my gaze to the window and stared out through the glass.

"When I ran away from my foster home," I said, "I couldn't wait to get out of there. Running away didn't feel like a betrayal because those people weren't nice to me. Well...Andrea tried, but she could only do so much. I think she wanted a family—wanted a child. But Eric was so... _controlling_ , it prevented her from acting like a mother. So I never felt like I had a real family. Here, though, it's different. I've finally found people that actually give a shit about me and I'm going to lie to them and betray their trust! How can I possibly do that?"

"It's a really big deal to you, isn't it?" George asked, looking at me seriously.

"It is and I just told you why," I answered. "I want to know where I came from, but I can't ruin the relationships I've managed to build here. I can't just throw it all away."

"But if we can't figure out all these mysteries involving your past and Eric, how can you live here in peace?" George asked. "You barely can as it is. You've tried to leave, what, twice now? If you keep wanting to leave anyway, what difference does it make unless we can figure out your past, put it behind you where it should be, and in the process get rid of the man who continues to terrorize you?"

I swallowed. "I know. There are just too many unanswered questions right now, including where Eric is and what he's planning. And I have to do _something_ to start getting some of the questions answered. I just..." I let out a deep sigh and glanced at George. "I've wanted a family for so long. A real one. And here I have Tom and Martha, your parents...I have friends. I'm afraid of it all going away. And I love your family. I don't want to hurt them. You've all been through so much already."

George smiled at me sadly. "And if we can make it through all of what we have—if we can get through Percy's _death—_ we can get through anything. Besides, you leaving for a little while isn't as bad as you running away forever and leaving us wondering whether or not you're safe."

"I may not be safe leaving here for a day or two anyway," I said. "Eric already attacked me once. He could do it again."

"Eric had you alone that time," George pointed out. "Now, Fred and I aren't planning on letting you out of our sight."

I smiled slightly, but before I could answer, Fred came back into the room. "I heard my name," he said, crashing onto his bed and sliding his hands leisurely behind his head. "Who are we not letting out of our sight?"

"Sophie," George said. "She's nervous about tomorrow."

"You're backing out?" Feed asked, sitting up and staring at me.

"No, Fred, I—" I broke off and sighed, burying my head in my hands before looking up at him. "I want answers, I truly do. I really don't think I can move on without them, no matter how much I try. But as I was just saying to George, I also don't think I can lie to your mother and sneak out like we've planned. Especially after all she just said to me at dinner."

"Because she offered to teach you how to _knit_?" Fred asked with a frown.

I set my jaw as anger began to boil inside of me. I scoffed and stood up, heading for the door. "You don't get it," I said, shaking my head. "You _have_ a family that's loved you your _whole_ life! You don't know what it's like to have the people who are supposed to take care of you _leave_."

Fred jumped off his bed and grabbed my arm to stop me from leaving. I wrenched myself out of his grasp, but didn't move to leave the room. I continued to stand facing the door, half looking at him over my shoulder.

"Percy left us _twice_ ," Fred said firmly. "We've talked about this so many times, Soph. And okay, maybe the second time he didn't have a choice, but the first time he did. So, yeah, I _do_ know what it's like to have someone leave who you thought would always be around."

"He's your brother, not your parent." I finally spun around to look at him. "And my parents both _never_ came back. What happened with Percy isn't the same. I'm not saying it hurt less or wasn't terrible or awful or that it didn't affect you, but-"

"It seems to me that it _is_ what you're saying," Fred snapped. "It sounds like you're telling me what you went through is _so_ much worse and that lucky me could never imagine what it's like to go through what you did."

"That's _not_ what I'm saying at all!" I cried, feeling more frustrated by the second. "All I'm saying is that it's _different_. We may both have had family members leave us, but I had _no one_. I didn't have a twin or any siblings at all. I didn't have friends or extended family or... _anyone_!" I was on the verge of tears now, no matter how much I was trying to hold them back. "I spent my whole life thinking nobody even loved me! And despite what happened with Percy, you _always_ knew you were loved. You were always wanted. By him and the rest of your family."

Fred stared at me for a moment before wordlessly stepping forward and pulling me into a hug. I stiffened, but then found myself relaxing. I let him put his arms around me and his chin on my head as tears dripped from my eyes onto his shirt. I tried not to look at George, who was watching with wide eyes.

"It wasn't specifically your mother offering to teach me to knit," I went on quietly. "But the fact that she offered to teach me how to do _something_. The fact that she wanted to share something she enjoyed with me. My own mother taught me a lot in the five years before she left-walking, talking, reading, ice skating...that was all her. But ever since she left, there was a lot she _didn't_ get to teach me. And none of my foster parents were interested. And to have your mother say she liked having me here...Between Tom and Martha and your family, I've felt wanted for the first time since I was _five_. You even said it yourself that you consider me one of you. How can you tell me that and then expect me to turn around and jeopardize all of it tomorrow morning?"

"I'm sorry," Fred muttered. "You're right." I felt the movement of his chin against my head. I pulled away from him and swiped at my eyes in embarrassment, staring down at the ground as I did so. Fred cleared his throat and I saw him glance at George and then back at me. "Give us five minutes," he said.

"Mm, I'd say closer to ten," George argued.

"You think?" Fred looked at his brother and scrunched his nose.

"What are you talking about?" I looked back and forth between them in confusion.

Fred walked past me to his desk and grabbed a few tissues before turning and handing them to me. "You'll see in ten minutes," he said with a sly smile. "Feel free to sit and relax while you wait."

I slowly sat down on one of the beds while Fred and George left the room together. I heard them head down the stairs and then say something once they reached the kitchen at the bottom. Mrs. Weasley answered them and then things were quiet.

I continued to sit where I was, feeling a bit restless. I didn't know what Fred and George were up to and I couldn't hear any voices. I knew they were talking to Mrs. Weasley, but what were they saying? Were they _telling_ her about what we'd planned to do tomorrow?

I stood up and began pacing around the room, wondering what exactly was happening. Five minutes went by, then seven. And then, once exactly ten minutes had passed, I heard the twins coming back up the stairs again. I turned towards the door as it opened and looked at them expectantly.

"What'd you two do?" I asked.

"Went and talked to Mum," Fred answered casually, flopping back down on his bed again.

"Told her the plan," George added, sitting down on his own bed.

"You _what_?" I gasped, my mouth falling open. "How does that make any of this better?"

"We asked her right out if we could bring you out with us tomorrow," Fred went on. "That way we're being honest and no one has to do any lying or sneaking around."

"We told her it was all our idea," George added. "And we told her how you felt about upsetting her in any way. We even said you cried."

"Why?" I asked.

"You did cry," Fred answered simply, shrugging his shoulders.

I shot him a look. "Yes, but why would you tell her that?"

"Tears almost always help someone's case," Fred told me. "The more innocent you are, the better. For example, if George and I cried to get something we wanted, Mum would tell us to bugger off. But you're a different story."

"So she wasn't upset?" I asked incredulously.

"No, she was," Fred said. When he saw my face, he quickly added, "but not at you. And she only yelled _at first_."

"She just hated the idea," George went on. "She thinks it's dangerous and she said there's a reason you're staying here and the house is protected and all that, which is _true_."

"However," Fred said, "we managed to calm her down and use our award winning persuasion skills and _your_ tears to get her to agree."

I was quiet for a moment as I thought that over. "You said she was upset at first," I said. "I didn't hear any yelling."

"Ah, well, of course not," Fred said, twirling his wand between his fingers and smiling wryly. "Muffliato charm. We didn't want to make you nervous when Mum lost it."

"But she can't possibly have completely come around to the idea," I said, sitting down on the window seat.

"No, she hasn't entirely," Fred said. "But she's allowing it."

"But why?" I asked.

"Must you ask so many questions?" Fred sighed.

"I don't think she asks a lot of questions," George said. He paused, then smiled. "It's sounds just like the same one over and over to me. _Why_. Why, why, why."

He and Fred laughed as I just stared at them. "Ha ha," I said, rolling my eyes slightly. "Didn't your mother ask questions? About what I was searching for and _how_? You didn't tell her about the necklace or the mystery lady, did you?"

"No, we didn't," George said.

"Then wasn't she curious about what kind of digging we're going to be doing?"

"No one said anything about digging," Fred said with a mischievous grin. "At least not to Mum."

"We told her we were bringing you outside for fresh air and a change of scenery," George said. "We said it's not healthy for you to be cooped up at the Burrow all day every day."

"She argued that you get fresh air here and the whole point was that so you could be protected and all that good stuff," Fred went on. " _But_ we also told her you wanted to see your friends as well as Tom and Martha and that since they're all usually working, we had to take you to them. Again, we played the sympathy card on your behalf. Mum almost began bawling at that point." He shook his head and chuckled.

I looked between the two of them in awe. "Amazing. You two are really something." I hesitated. "But you still lied to her."

"Sort of," Fred said. "You do need a change of scenery and to see your friends. But we couldn't tell her everything without going into detail. She knows about the diary from what we told everyone the night Eric attacked you at Noah's house. But they don't know about this mystery woman or the necklace or what it does."

"Do you think we should be telling people?" I asked. "Kingsley or someone? About the necklace?"

"Well," Fred said slowly. "We don't know yet if it connects to Eric. We know it connects to this mystery woman and to your past-your past from before foster care. I think we should wait. If it's not relevant to finding Eric, why say something right away?"

"But this lady could be working with him. If I saw her in Hogsmeade and at your shop and if she gave me this necklace, she must be magical. And she had that postcard from when I was in foster care. It kind of connects the two."

"Again, we don't know that," Fred said. "She hasn't seemed dangerous so far, just mysterious and strange. If we can find her again and actually talk to her, maybe we can get some answers."

"If she's working with Eric, she's not going to tell us," I pointed out.

"No, but she might be able to tell us something else," Fred said. "By the way, I think you'll like this bit of news. Since we told Mum we were taking you to the Leaky Cauldron, we kind of have to do it to give us an alibi." He smiled. "So we actually are paying Tom and Martha a visit tomorrow."

"We are?" I asked eagerly, a smile spreading over my face. I'd missed Tom and Martha immensely. I hadn't seen them since I'd come to the Burrow and I hadn't seen Rachel, Kayla, Allie, or even Kyle since then either. I wondered about them constantly. I almost even missed the girls' gossiping.

"We are," Fred repeated with a smile.

"You two really are amazing," I said. "Thank you...so much."

"What are friends for?" Fred said quietly.

* * *

Later that night, after leaving the twins' room, I headed back down the stairs, hoping to find Mrs. Weasley. Luckily, she was in the living room, digging through a bag full of different colored yarn.

"What color do you think Victoire would like for a hat?" she asked, sensing I was in standing in the doorway without looking up.

"Um," I said, entering the room and sitting down on the couch as I gazed at the balls of yarn sitting in the bag. "I've always liked purple. Maybe she will too."

"Purple's lovely," Mrs. Weasley said, selecting a deep purple colored yarn and setting it in her lap.

"Where's Mr. Weasley?" I asked.

"Out back in the shed," Mrs. Weasley said. "His Muggle shed, I like to call it. It's where he keeps his Muggle things that he constantly likes to tinker with." She rolled her eyes slightly. "It baffles me that he can have such an interest in things like _plugs_."

I smiled slightly. "So Fred and George told me they came to talk to you earlier."

"They did," she said, pulling out her knitting needles and getting started on Victoire's hat.

I watched her for a moment, almost mesmerized by the movement of the needles. She worked so _fast_. And it didn't look like much of anything right now-just a bunch of yarn looped around the needle, but soon it would become a hat.

"Thanks for letting me go with them tomorrow," I said. "It means a lot."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I know you must miss Tom and Martha and your friends from work. Everything happened so fast and you didn't really get to give them a proper goodbye. I've thought about that quite a bit since you first came here."

"You have?"

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley said. "Your life got even more turned upside down and Fred and George were right-you need to get out and see people besides the small group of us that you _do_ see daily."

"I don't mind seeing you daily," I said. "You're all wonderful, and as I told Fred and George, I don't want to hurt or upset you in any way. I'm so grateful for what you've done. I don't want to repay you by doing something stupid."

"I do want you to be safe and I don't want any of our protective measures to go to waste," Mrs. Weasley admitted. "But Fred and George swore they'd keep you safe. And however reckless they've been known to be, they're good on their word and they are protective."

"You must be worried about them as well," I said, watching the knitting needles move quickly in her hands, gently clacking together.

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley said. "But I know that it's just like with my brothers-once they've made up their minds about doing something, it's hard to change them. They'll find a way to do what they want and if I argue with them about it..." She trailed off and sighed. "If something were to happen, I don't want our last conversation to be an argument because I didn't want them to do something. And in a lot of cases-not all, but a lot-they want to do something good. Like what they're doing for you." She shrugged. "I can't refuse to let them go about doing things because I'm worried, either. There are numerous dangerous things out there. Several things that could hurt them and many ways they could be injured or killed or..." She shrugged. "I've raised them the best I could and I have to trust that they can make good decisions and survive as adults."

"Does it help?" I asked. "Ease your worry, I mean."

"Not always. A mother always worries," she said.

I bit my lip. _Apparently not_ _mine_ , I almost wanted to say. But the thing was, I didn't know for sure. I didn't have all the answers. I had none, in fact. I had no idea why my mother had left me or if there was any reason at all. I could bury my head in the sand all I wanted and try to ignore the past as much as I could, but it would always be there, nagging at me. If I was being honest, it _did_ bother me not knowing the truth about what happened. As afraid as I was of digging too deep into the mess that was my life, I _had_ to. Being able to put together the puzzle of my past was becoming suddenly calming to me. I suddenly just wanted nothing more than to tuck everything away in neat little boxes in my head instead of having it be all one big jumble.

"Do you do all your knitting by hand?" I asked Mrs. Weasley, gesturing to the needles in her hands.

"Good gracious, no," she laughed. "Can you imagine me knitting eleven Christmas sweaters completely by hand? Even starting early wouldn't give me time to finish them all if I did them that way. I knit the Christmas sweaters mostly by magic, doing a little by hand when I have time. But other times, like now, I'll do something almost completely by hand, using magic if I'm in a pinch. Doing it by hand can be quite relaxing at times. Keeps my mind and hands occupied."

I watched her for a moment until I saw her look up and meet my eyes with a warm smile.

"There's an extra pair of needles in the bag," she said. "I can get you started on a scarf, if you'd like. They're fairly easy."

"Really?" I asked with a grin.

She nodded and I crossed the room to kneel down by her bag of yarn, digging in until I found the needles.

"Now go ahead and pick out a color," she instructed.

I stuck my tongue between my teeth as I carefully rummaged through the yarn, finally choosing a cranberry red color.

"That's lovely," Mrs. Weasley commented. She finished the row of stitches she was working on before turning to me. "Now, let's get you started on that scarf."


	25. Chapter 25

"Merlin's _beard,_ that's hideous."

I looked up to meet Fred's eyes with a glare on my own face. I was sitting crossed legged on my—well, _Charlie's—_ bed. I still felt funny calling anything in this room mine, even if I'd been sleeping in it for weeks now and even if Charlie didn't live here anymore.

I had worked on my scarf for an hour with Mrs. Weasley the night before and then had continued working on it this morning while I waited for Fred and George to be ready to leave. It had been what I was doing when Fred had knocked on the door just now. Perhaps it _was_ a bit lumpy and uneven and perhaps some of the stitches were looser than others, but surely the scarf wasn't _hideous_. And it was my first one! I deserved to be cut a little slack.

"It's not hideous," I said through gritted teeth. "It's _endearing_."

"It's hideous," Fred declared with a chuckle and a smile as he came to sit down on the edge of my bed.

"I'm sorry you think so," I said, wrapping another bit of yarn around a needle. "I was knitting it for you."

Fred snorted a laugh. "Funny," he commented.

"I'm serious," I told him calmly, a smile turning up a corner of my mouth.

"Mum already started teaching you?" Fred asked, jerking his chin towards the scarf.

I nodded. "Last night. I went to go talk to her and thank her for letting me leave the house today and she was knitting a hat for Victoire."

Fred didn't answer, so I looked up to see him watching my hands move clumsily around the needles with a hint of worry etched on his face.

"What?" I asked, stopping what I was doing and lowering my hands to my lap. "Are you afraid I'm going to accidentally stab myself with the knitting needles?"

"No, it's nothing," Fred said quickly, ignoring my comment about getting hurt by the needles.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "That wasn't very convincing."

"It's just that...Mum's nervous," Fred answered, meeting my eyes. "She'll knit by hand every now and again when she has time, but she _always_ does when she's nervous about something."

"She did say it keeps her mind occupied," I whispered.

Fred nodded. "Exactly. I don't want you to feel guilty though. I know you're going to go ahead and say you really shouldn't have been involving us in this mess and putting us in danger and all that nonsense, but we've all decided to be a part of this on our own so don't say a word and do not try to back out again. Besides, Mum's just as worried about you as she is the rest of us. Like I've said, she's got a thing for parentless children." He nudged my knee and gave me a smile as I fiddled with the small square of yarn that was the beginning of a scarf.

"Thank you for doing this," I finally whispered, looking up at him. "For helping me."

"Don't mention it," Fred answered. "I needed some excitement in my life. Things were getting a little dull." He sent me a wry smile and I actually let out a laugh.

"Don't say that," I said. "I don't think anything could ever possibly be dull with you."

Fred smiled at me for a moment before standing up. "Ready to go?" He asked.

I nodded and set aside my knitting before standing up as well. "Let's do it," I said, nervously smoothing down the front of my shirt.

Fred reached out for my hand and I found myself taking it, letting him lead me from the room and down the stairs.

George was waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

"It's about time," he commented lightly. His eyes traveled to my and Fred's clasped hands and he jokingly wiggled his eyebrows. I immediately slipped my hand out of Fred's and stuck both hands in my pockets as I cleared my throat.

"Let's get going," I said, glancing towards the door.

Fred and George looked at each other and shrugged, before calling to their mother that we were leaving. She appeared a moment later and gave us all hugs goodbye. She squeezed me tightly to her and I smiled slightly against her shoulder.

"Be safe," she told us. "Promise you will."

"We will, Mum," George assured her. "You don't have to worry."

"Of course I do," she said. She turned to me. "But do say hello to Tom and Martha for me and give them my best."

"I will," I assured her.

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Go on," she finally said. "I know you must be anxious to see them."

She saw us to the door and called after us once more to be safe as we headed down the front path.

I turned and looked at her over my shoulder as we reached the front gate and Fred unlatched it. We'd have to keep walking to the end of the lane in order to reach the edge of the protection charms, and then we'd Apparate to the alleyway just to the left of the Leaky Cauldron. I had wondered if it would be easier to use to Floo and arrive directly from the inside of the Burrow to the inside of the Leaky Cauldron, but part of the protection charms around the house meant that the Floo was shut down.

"You okay?" Fred asked me as we began walking down the dirt path.

"Yeah," I said, snapping out of my thoughts. "You know, I was just wondering...what if this is all for nothing? What if we don't even run into Mystery Woman anywhere? We don't exactly have a plan. We're just hoping she shows up or comes to us, which isn't exactly reliable."

Fred smiled. "True, but George and I both have a feeling she might show up."

"Why do you think that?" I asked curiously.

The twins looked at each other before Fred turned back to me. "Well...you kind of disappeared for a bit."

"Right," I said slowly. When Fred didn't continue, I looked between him and George in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at."

"For her to keep popping up where you were," George began, "and the fact that she seemed to inconspicuously slip you something each time-the necklace, the postcard, the diary-"

"We don't know if she gave me the diary," I protested. "Besides, why would she show herself for the necklace and the postcard, but not the diary?"

"Maybe she was afraid," Fred said. "Also, she probably didn't plan on being noticed. And when we saw her in the joke shop, she tried to run away at first, remember?"

"Yeah because you basically _chased_ her down," I said.

Fred shrugged. "She probably was planning on slipping you that postcard without anyone noticing."

"Anyway," George went on. "The point is that everything she's done seems strategic."

"As if she's been following me and watching me," I said. "In order to know where I am so she can keep slipping me all these crazy objects related to my past." I felt goosebumps appear on my arms as a chill went down my spine and I shivered slightly.

"Right," George said almost apologetically. "And since you've disappeared, we think she's probably keeping an extra close eye out for you, waiting for you to show up. You've raised suspicions by disappearing. Of course, she could have thought you'd finally moved on and went to another city or country, which could be good news normally, but not for today. Today, we need her here."

I sighed and chewed on my lip. I was sure they'd both seen me shiver and when Fred took my hand again and gave it a squeeze, I knew I was right.

"It's okay," he said. "Like we've told you, we're not letting you out of our sight today. You're safe-if anyone tries _anything,_ we're ready and you're not alone."

"What if Eric shows up and tries to threaten the joke shop or your customers?" I asked.

"We'll handle it," Fred said with a shrug. "We're not afraid of him. Death Eaters have already destroyed the shop once and we reopened it to an even bigger crowd than the first time. One Muggle man can't do any worse damage than that."

"Death Eaters destroyed it during the war?" I asked sympathetically.

"Not with us inside," George said. "We'd had to abandon it shortly before to go into hiding at our great aunt's house. We were already being tracked by Death Eaters and long story short, it just became safest for us to go into lockdown."

"But we ran an owl order business from the attic of Aunt Muriel's house," Fred went on. "Had to keep getting people's source of laughter to them somehow."

"And people still ordered things?" I asked. "In the middle of all that was happening? And despite the mail being fairly unsafe?"

Fred nodded. "Surprisingly, yes, people still ordered products. I think people thought if it came down to it, they could use some of them against Death Eaters."

"Joke products?" I asked.

Fred nodded. "We did invent a line of outerwear laced with protection charms just for the purpose of the war. But people wanted other things too. Like the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, for example. Or trick wands for when the Death Eaters came asking for real ones. People wanted our Skiving Snackboxes and Ton-Tongue Toffees to attempt to trick Death Eaters into eating them."

"Or people would eat them themselves and proceed to vomit or bleed all over their attacker," George went on. "Some bought fireworks to alert others to their location if they needed to, and people also bought a lot of Muggle tricks, thinking they'd catch the Death Eaters off guard with something they'd know even less about than actual magic joke products. The itching powder was a _sensation_."

"That's amazing," I said. "Truly. Even during a period when you'd think it was the worst time for jokes-"

"There's never a bad time for jokes," Fred said.

"Yes there is," I argued.

"There's always a time for a _tactful_ and _well thought out_ joke," Fred said.

I was quiet as I thought that over for a moment. Maybe he was right. I couldn't say I had much experience with tactful jokes, only mean ones. And of course that would lead me to believe there was never a good time for them. But before I could say anything else, we had reached the end of the lane and Fred was slipping his hand into mine again.

"Ready?" he asked.

I inhaled slowly before letting it out. "Yeah," I whispered.

Fred gave my hand a quick squeeze and a second later, we had Apparated and appeared in the alley beside the Leaky Cauldron. George appeared a second later and led the way to the end of the alley, where he poked his head out and looked both ways.

"Coast is clear," he announced.

The three of us walked out into the street, keeping ourselves calm, casual and inconspicuous to anyone who might walk by. When we reached the front door of the pub, George pushed open the door and led the way inside.

I actually found myself relaxing slightly as I entered the building. I'd spent so much of my time here-well, actually _all_ of my time up until recently-and it felt so familiar that it made me feel better. It made me feel at home. Because it _was_ home at this point.

Since it was only a little after eight in the morning, the dining area was quiet, with only three guests quietly eating their breakfasts. It was honestly just the way I preferred it. It was a lot nicer than the busy dinner rushes. And a part of me was still mortified from my short lived experience as a waitress.

"Come on," Fred said, leading me back towards the kitchens. As we got closer, I heard the clattering of pots, pans and dishes, in addition to the sounds of voices.

When we reached the kitchen door, I dropped Fred's hand and stepped forward to peer inside. Kyle was at the stove, making some scrambled eggs, while bacon sizzled in a second pan on the same stove, magically flying out of the pan when it was done, as uncooked bacon floated into it to take the place of the cooked pieces.

Rachel, Kayla and Allie were in another corner, talking amongst themselves. Rachel was holding a compact mirror up to her face with one hand and applying mascara with the other, while Allie was adjusting her apron and Kayla was stifling a yawn behind her hand.

"If Martha catches you with that crap out in the kitchen, she's going to lose it," Kyle called over to Rachel and jerking his chin at the mascara. "Honestly, couldn't you have done that before you came to work?"

"I did," she argued. "It's called a _touch up_ , Kyle. Honestly, have you not learned _anything_ from your wife after being married for so long?"

"A kitchen is not the place for it," Kyle said. "Put it away."

Rachel sighed loudly before slipping the mascara and the mirror into her bag that was hanging from a hook in the corner. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," she grumbled.

"Hey, hey, knock it off, you two," Kayla chided. "It's too early in the morning for bickering." The toaster on the counter suddenly popped out four perfect pieces of toast and Kayla hopped up onto the counter and snagged two pieces before reaching behind her for a knife and some jam. "However, it is never too early for toast," she said as she smeared jam on one of the slices of bread.

Kyle sent her a weary look. "Off the counter," he said.

"Off course," Kayla replied, hopping off the counter. "Anything for the King of the Kitchen."

"The kitchen is supposed to be a very _sanitary_ place," Kyle insisted. "It is not the place for makeup or sitting on counters. Tom and Martha would agree with me and you know it. So follow the rules." He smiled before lightly swatting at Kayla with a dishtowel.

"You know that request is just going to fall on deaf ears, right?" Allie snorted as Kayla rolled her eyes.

"It's not going to stop me from requesting it," Kyle shrugged.

"You should save your breath," Kayla muttered through a mouthful of toast, crumbs falling everywhere.

"Merlin, Kay," Rachel groaned, passing her a napkin as she walked past. "How ladylike."

"You know you love me!" Kayla cackled, dusting off her hands exaggeratedly in Rachel's direction as Rachel squealed with disgust and ducked away.

I smiled from where I was leaning against the doorframe and couldn't help myself from letting out a giggle. I hadn't realized just how much I'd _missed_ this until I was back watching it.

My laugh alerted everyone in the room to my presence and it went suddenly silent and still as they stared at me in shock. I felt my face heat up and I knew I was flushed completely red. I suddenly felt extremely nervous. Here I was, after weeks of being on lockdown after Noah had been found murdered-possibly by someone who was after _me_ -and I didn't know where I even stood with anyone. What had they been saying and thinking about me in the past few weeks? Would they have blamed me? Would they have talked about me while I was gone? Made fun of me? I suddenly didn't know what to say. There was so _much_ to say. Simply saying _hi_ wouldn't even begin to cover it, but that was what came out of my mouth anyway.

"Hi," I breathed out, giving a tiny wave. Merlin, I was embarrassing.

" _Sophie_!" Rachel breathed out. And then to my surprise, she surged forward and threw her arms around me. I actually jumped a bit, but then found myself hugging her back.

"Um, hi," I said. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see _you_!" Rachel said, pulling away and taking both of my hands in hers. I was surprised for the second time when I saw tears in her eyes. "How are you? After everything that happened, I didn't even get the chance to talk to you. You must have been devastated about Noah. And then I heard that some guy from the Ministry was asking questions as if he thought _you_ had something to do with it! How ridiculous-honestly, the nerve of him to even imply that. You would never!"

I took a breath as I tried to take in all that she was saying. "I should be asking _you_ how you are," I said, diverting the conversation away from me. I also had to ask about how she was doing before anything else. I'd been unable to stop thinking about her and how she must have been feeling since Noah's death. If I'd been distraught, she had it so much worse. "I heard that you were having a hard time. I'm so sorry, Rach. I know you and Noah were close. I don't know what else to say except I'm sorry and I know that doesn't do anything, but-"

"It means a lot," Rachel said, letting go of my hands to swipe at her eyes. She let out a watery laugh. "Great, now my mascara is going to smudge."

"Oh, sweet Merlin," Kyle groaned. When I turned to face him, he finished plating the eggs he was making and came over to hug me. "Hi, Mouse." He stepped back and held me at arm's length, studying me. "Seriously, how've you been?"

"Okay," I shrugged.

"The Weasleys taking good care of you?" Kyle asked, glancing up at the doorway, where the twins were still standing.

"The greatest care," I said, turning to smile at the twins, who smiled back and stepped into the room.

As they greeted Kyle, Allie and Kayla came over to hug me as well.

"So, what's been going on?" Allie asked quietly. "Like Rachel said, we didn't get a chance to talk to you that night. You passed out and then you were gone. Tom and Martha just said you were going to the Burrow, but they had mentioned you were leaving even before you found Noah. And then we overheard Martha ranting about how rude that Ministry wizard was to you."

I took in a deep breath before letting it out through my nose. Where to even begin? I finally decided to start with the night I'd been attacked at Noah's house and go over everything from there. I didn't hold anything back, which was another slight surprise.

"I feel like it's my fault," I said quietly, leaning back against the counter and staring down at my shoes.

"It's not," Rachel assured me quietly. "Even if Eric did kill Noah, it's not your fault."

"I led Eric here," I said. "And I still can't help but wonder, in the back of my mind, whether or not it's going to be one of you next. Or Tom, or Martha, or one of the Weasleys. It feels _so good_ to not be going about this alone, but two innocent people have already died. Noah and his mother. I just...don't know what to do."

"Exactly what you've been doing," Rachel said. "We can handle ourselves."

I looked up at her. "I was afraid you'd blame me," I whispered. "Noah was one of your best friends."

Rachel looked at me sadly. "I was- _am_ -heartbroken. Of course I am. I'm healing, but it's only been a few weeks. But I do not blame you. It's not your fault."

"But if I hadn't even come here in the first place-"

"You would've ended up somewhere else and it would've been another person who Eric got to. Or you would've kept moving and exhausted yourself and he would've gotten _you_. If you didn't die of starvation first." She shrugged. "I'm _glad_ you came here." A slow smile spread over her face. "You needed us, Sophie. Face it."

"Are you saying I can't take care of myself?" I asked, half teasing.

"No, of course not," she said. "You just needed some proper cooking, some proper clothes and some proper friends."

I smiled and wiped away the few stray tears that had pooled in my eyes. "I've really missed you all," I whispered. "I even missed the bickering."

"We've missed you too," Allie said, pulling me into another hug.

"How are things otherwise?" I asked.

"The usual, actually," Kayla said. "As you saw."

"Tom and Martha miss you," Allie said softly.

I felt an odd ache in my chest at her words. I'd missed them too and I wondered about them all the time. But I also found myself smiling almost wryly at Allie. "Okay, Martha I can understand, but did you say that _Tom_ missed me?"

"Shocking, isn't it?" a voice said from behind me. I turned around to see Tom himself standing at the foot of the kitchen stairs and I broke into a smile.

"Hi, Tom," I said.

He made his way over to me, looking me up and down. "You look good," he said, reaching out and awkwardly patting my shoulder. "Healthy. No surprise there. I'm sure Molly's been taking wonderful care of you."

I nodded. "Of course."

Tom cleared his throat and continued to stare at me, looking unsure of what else to say. "Martha will be glad to see you. She'll be down in a minute."

"How is she? How are _you_?" I asked.

"Okay," Tom shrugged. "You know...it's been quiet around here since you've left. Not that you were ever noisy. Not in the least, actually. But I'd grown quite used to having you around. I'm glad to see you're doing well, though." He cleared his throat again and shuffled his feet a bit.

"Thanks, Tom." I smiled again. I'd known Tom long enough to understand what he was trying to say and I appreciated it. He was never good with feelings or words but it felt good to know that he'd grown to care about me, just as I'd grown to care about him.

Just then, I heard Martha's footsteps on the stairs. "Is that Sophie's voice I heard?"

I looked over my shoulder just as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She beamed excitedly and rushed over to hug me. I let her, actually feeling good with her arms around me. That was the thing about Martha. She gave the best hugs and always knew how to make you feel warm, loved, safe and protected with just her arms around you.

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur as I was asked question after question about how I'd been doing and how things were at the Burrow and that I shouldn't have risked anything by coming to see them, but they were glad I did. It was almost overwhelming. But eventually, Tom, Martha, Rachel, Kayla and Allie had to get back to work and the kitchen suddenly quieted down.

I let out a breath and looked up to meet Kyle's eyes, who was the only other person in the room with me now.

"Fred and George went and found a table," he said. "They're going to eat breakfast and I figured you'd be joining them." He smiled at me as he gestured to the eggs he was making. "Two eggs, scrambled with cheese and a side of bacon?"

"You remembered," I said with a smile.

"Yeah, I might just be a little fond of you, Mouse. Don't let it go to your head." He leaned over and ruffled my hair. "Now go on, go sit down and enjoy the fact that you get to sit and relax while one of the girls serves you breakfast."

"I hope it's Kayla," I joked, knowing she'd be the one who would at least pretend to be bitter over the fact that for today-the first time since I'd arrived here, actually-I was a customer.

Kyle laughed before shooing me out of the room. It took me only a few seconds to locate Fred and George, sitting at a table in one of the front corners of the pub, near a window. They were talking in low voices, but when I got closer, Fred looked up and saw me, his mouth turning up into a smile.

"Hey," he said as I slid into the seat across from him and next to George. "Sorry for leaving you to come sit down, but we figured we'd leave you alone to catch up with everyone."

"It's okay," I said.

"We did take the liberty of getting you a glass of orange juice, though," George said, gesturing to the glass in front of me. "We didn't know what you wanted, but we've seen you drinking orange juice at the Burrow, so we figured it was a safe bet."

"I love orange juice," I said with a smile. "It's my favorite, actually."

"Fred likes it, too," George said, gesturing to Fred, who also had a glass of the same juice in front of him. "Personally, I can't stand the stuff." He made a face and pretended to gag.

"You're weird, then," I teased. "It's the best."

"Agreed," Fred said, picking up his glass and tilting it towards me. I picked up my own and clinked it against his before taking a big sip.

"It was really nice to see everyone again," I said after a moment. "Thank you both for doing this."

"If you thank us one more time..." Fred threatened with a laugh.

I smiled and turned to gaze out the window as I slowly turned my glass in my hand. There was so much going through my head at the moment and so many things I wanted the answers to that I couldn't even focus on one thing-or even a handful of things. If I got the opportunity today to talk to this Mystery Woman, where would I even begin? Would she stay and talk to me? Would she give me answers or simply be as cryptic as last time and then run away? I thought she owed me at least something at this point. She had slipped me a necklace that was referenced in a diary that she may or may not have also slipped me. The necklace made me invisible and essentially told me that I was related to Elizabeth and John Proctor. It was almost too much.

"What if she won't talk to me?" I suddenly asked quietly, turning back to the twins, my voice small sounding. "What if we don't even _see_ her? As nervous as she makes me and as cautious as I am about her, I think not seeing her will disappoint me."

"I would imagine," Fred said, studying my face. "She's the only source of information you have at this point." He paused. "But I think we'll have to make her talk to you if she tries to run again."

I snorted. "What, you think we should tackle her to the ground and tie her up in the middle of Diagon Alley? That'll probably get us arrested, Fred."

"How daft do you think I am?" Fred asked. "I'm a little more strategic at getting what I want than _that_." He paused. "And I would _never_ tackle a lady to the ground. Have you met the woman who raised me?" A slight smile turned up a corner of his mouth. "She'd never allow that to happen."

The corner of my mouth turned up at his comment. "Fine, so what's the plan?"

"Well...probably to start off being stern," Fred said with a shrug, glancing at his brother.

"And then if that doesn't work," George went on, "well..."

"Well what?" I looked back and forth between them, suddenly unsure if I was going to like what they were about to suggest.

"I know you probably won't be in favor," Fred said, "but it really all depends on how willing you are to get what you want."

"You said you weren't going to tackle anyone," I warned. "Or-or do anything violent or illegal. Or both."

Fred and George laughed. "We're not talking about _violence,_ Soph," Fred said, still chuckling slightly. "No, I was going to say we'd play the sympathy card if we had to. You wouldn't happen to be able to cry on command, would you?"

I shot him a look. "No, I can't. And I wouldn't."

"Ah, well, that's all right," Fred said airily, flipping his hand nonchalantly. "George or I will just have to do it. It would just have a better effect if it was you crying."

I stared at him open-mouthed. "You two can cry on command?" I asked. "Just like that?"

"Surprised?" George asked, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow at me as he took a sip from his mug of tea.

I thought about it for a moment. "Not at all, actually." I leaned back in my own chair and shook my head.

Just then, Kayla appeared at the end of our table, a plate of food in each hand, and one magically floating in front of her.

"I do hope you like being waited on," she said to me, a hint of a smile on her face that she managed to disguise after a second. "Enjoy it while it lasts because before you know it, you'll be back here doing your job with the rest of us."

"That was oddly uplifting," I said as she set down our food in front of us.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it," Kayla said. She smiled for real and winked before turning on her heel and walking away.

"Would you look at that," Fred said thoughtfully, looking at me. "Even Kayla's positive you'll be staying here for good."

"I want to, Fred, believe me," I said. "I want to stay."

"You can't let someone like Eric chase you away from what you want," Fred argued before I could go on. "That just lets him win and gives him power."

"But what happens if he doesn't chase me away from what I want, but _takes_ it away instead?" I asked quietly. "He's already started."

Fred looked at George, who gave him a small smile and shrugged before turning to me. "He can't take it if you don't let him."

When I didn't respond, he reached over and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before picking up his fork and digging into his eggs.

Sighing, I picked up my own fork and did the same, thinking to myself that while George gave good advice, it was advice that was way easier said than done.


	26. Chapter 26

_August 26th, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts._

 _A week ago today, on the nineteenth of August, my dear husband was taken to be executed. A month to the day after Sarah was brought to the same location to meet the same fate._

 _I have been too upset to write much. Or at all, actually, which is made clear by the fact that this is my first entry in over a month._

 _By some stroke of luck, Dorothy has remained in the cell beside mine ever since her mother was removed from the cell to be executed. I could not even believe our luck when they were forced to share a cell in the first place. They are so small as it is and I did not think the two of them would be allowed to stay together, but on the other hand, the jail is crowded. It filled quickly and once it did, prisoners were brought to the Ipswich or Boston jails. I'm sure the conditions there were not much better than they are here, if they were even better at all._

 _In any case, these two bits of luck were the only ones. Everything else has been a complete nightmare._

 _Due to the fact that Dorothy was never actually convicted as a witch, only used for a testimony against Sarah, her father was told that she could be released from jail, but only if he could come forward with her court fees. Everyone knows full well that her father cannot come forward with that money. So for now, Dorothy remains in the cell beside mine. She has started crying every night again, just like she did when she first came here. Only now she does it quietly. She knows that if she is heard, a guard will be in to quiet her down almost immediately._

 _I try whispering to her through the hole in the wall. Sometimes it works and sometimes it does not. And sometimes I cannot do it at all if I hear a guard wandering too close to our cells._

 _As far as my pregnancy, it is quite noticeable at this point that I am carrying a child. I am about five months along and there is no denying it. I do worry on account of the fact I am not getting the best care while I am here. While I did not expect to get any kind of care, it does not stop me from worrying constantly about whether or not the baby will be healthy or even if the birth will go well. All this time I have been fighting for this child, to keep it alive so that it can have a life, even if I am not in it. The baby has been my reason to keep going. But sometimes I wonder if any of it matters. With every day that passes, I lose more and more hope that there is a way out of this for me. And if my child survives, what kind of life will they have? Will he or she end up in loving hands or will a lifetime of hardships lie ahead? What will it be like being the child of two convicted witches in the town of Salem, Massachusetts? Will anyone even bother to tell them my story or will the child grow up constantly wondering?_

 _Perhaps this diary will follow to wherever he or she ends up. There is no guarantee and I realize that. But I can hope. I can hope that this diary will somehow be the way my future child learns what happened to his or her mother and father. I hope he or she realizes they are loved, despite not having much time together. I hope they realize they were wanted, but unforeseen circumstances prevented us from being together. Circumstances that may be entirely beyond anyone's control._

* * *

I sighed and chewed on my lip as I finished reading the newest entry in Elizabeth's diary. Each of the recent entries were all pretty much the same. She was exhausted, drained, hopeless and miserable and she was spending her days in the same tiny cell, all while carrying a child, so I could understand why the entries were the way they were. I was becoming more and more worried that she wasn't going to make it out of prison and that the diary would be coming to an end soon. It was even more devastating when I realized that if it ended while she was in prison I would probably never know what became of her child and of Dorothy Good. I'd be left assuming that they died there from complete lack of care.

I stretched my arms out in front of me for a moment before looking over the railing in front of me and down at the busy shop. I had taken perch at the top of the stairs leading to the upper level of the shop. I'd sat down in a spot all the way to the right, against the wall, and dangled my legs over the edge, resting my arms on the mid-level railing that ran below the main one. It was the most secluded spot I could find that was still out in the main shop in case Mystery Woman showed up. In fact, this spot gave me a view of the entire lower level. If she walked in, I would most likely see her.

Just then, I saw Fred walking just below me. He glanced up and smiled. "Anything?" he mouthed.

I shook my head and gave him a small smile in return. I hadn't been up here for very long, though, and we had all day. But I was also starting to become restless. Even if this lady was on the lookout for me, I wasn't exactly making myself a good target by staying inside of the joke shop all day. Although, if she'd noticed how close I'd become to the twins, maybe she'd suspect this would be a good place to check. I still couldn't even decide if I wanted her to show up or not. My stomach was constantly flopping with nerves and even reading the diary wasn't helping. Not as if it were exactly enjoyable reading anyway. But, I was still intrigued and curious by the story, despite dreading how it would end. And I hoped that if I kept trying, I'd be able to take my thoughts off of my nerves towards the Mystery Woman. So, with that on my mind, I opened the diary again and began the next entry.

* * *

 _October 20th, 1692. Salem, Massachusetts._

 _I may have found a way out of here. A way for me to make it out of here alive. It is not by any means a great plan, but it is something nonetheless._

 _Once a month, Judge Hathorne comes to the jail. Each remaining prisoner is dragged out of their cell just for a few moments to be questioned. We were essentially asked if there was anything we would like to say or share. As if they believed our time locked up would have worn us down in a way and we would be so desperate to get out at this point that we would say anything. So far, no one has given up any information. Most people who do have any kind of magic are either still here in prison, or have been executed already. There is almost nothing to tell anymore, even if we wanted to._

 _I must say, despite having remaining strong and keeping my mouth shut for months, I considered it. I considered giving Judge Hathorne any information he wanted, even if it was not true, just to ensure my freedom. But that would not ensure Dorothy's. I wondered if there would be a way to negotiate her release, despite the fact that she still has fees that need paying. Her father has no money and neither do I. Everything John and I owned has been taken from us. Our possessions, our home, even the tavern._

 _The idea I came up with this month is risky. Extremely risky. I worry that it could end badly. I worry that I could be executed sooner, taking my child along with me and leaving Dorothy alone, or to be executed herself after all. It's going to involve a lot of careful persuasion and negotiating on my part, but I have lots of time to myself day after day to think about just what to say._

 _If this works, life after this won't be easy. It might just be downright awful. At times, I think it may just be as bad as being here in jail, but then at the same time I'm not sure if anything can be as bad as this._

 _I overheard Judge Hathorne talking last month. Winnifred, his servant girl, packed up and left Salem. She took all her savings, packed up her things and left. She left no note, but I have a good idea of why. Can you imagine working for the man responsible for locking up groups of innocent citizens by the wagonload? I knew Winnifred. She was a sweet, kind girl with good morals that disagreed with Judge Hathorne's normally harsh rulings. But once all of this witch hysteria began, it must have become unbearable. I had heard people were even being unkind to her, as if they needed someone to indirectly take out the anger with Judge Hathorne one._

 _Judge Hathorne, of course, refuses to believe it has anything to do with him. He has called her more terrible names than I can list. He says she was useless anyway and that she will not be able to find work as good as she had here._

 _While Winnifred's well being and what might become of her now does worry me, this has given me an opportunity to save myself. So my idea is this: Judge Hathorne will be back on All Hallow's Eve-he always visits the jail on the last day of each month. When he asks to speak with me, instead of giving out names or information of any other residents in town that may have been 'overlooked', I shall offer that in exchange for my freedom, I will take Winnifred's place and attend to things at his home. He knows I helped John run the tavern. He knows I can cook and clean-and do it well._

 _It disgusts me that I have stooped this low. I have always been proud of who I am. I have always stood tall and spoke up for what I believed in. So offering to become somebody's servant-and Judge Hathorne's no less-makes me feel like I could vomit. I can hardly stand the thought of having to answer to him, having to take orders from him, and having him constantly degrade me for the rest of my life, as if he has not done enough of that already._

 _But I have become desperate. I would do anything at this point. Spending the rest of my days working for such a despicable man-and making Dorothy do the same-is anything but desirable. But I am tired. I am exhausted. And I see no other option. I know he is desperate for a new servant and no one else is available or even wants the job, despite the reasonable pay. Which is why I have a sliver of hope that this could work. I have to work out exactly what I will say-and make sure it is convincing. But as I said, I have lots of time to think._

 _The only thing is that I know I would not be able to get Dorothy released with me. She still has a living family member-her father. I cannot just offer her into servitude. It is not my place. So my idea was to save up enough money to pay her fees and get her released. I am not expecting Judge Hathorne to agree to pay me much-or even at all. But I do have some money saved up back home. In the secret room below the house. The only trouble will be getting to it. The house is not exactly mine any longer and if Judge Hathorne does agree to take me on as his servant, I am doubtful about the freedom he will give me. At least right away. He is very distrusting of me, clearly. In his eyes, witches are tricky. We can be, of course. But not always for evil._

 _I have ten and a half more days to put the finishing touches on this plan. Ten and a half more days until I have a chance at changing my fate._

* * *

I swallowed as I marked the page I'd left off on and slowly closed the diary. I couldn't help but feel suddenly hopeful. Just when everything had seemed terribly bleak for Elizabeth, there was suddenly a glimmer of hope—a chance of a way out. A chance to survive.

Granted, if her plan did work, she'd be forever indebted to the very person who had sentenced her to both prison and death. But she would be alive. Her son would survive. And Dorothy had a real chance, too.

But if it didn't work...

There was still a good chance the judge would turn her down immediately. There was a good chance he'd laugh in her face and send her back to her cell. There was a chance he'd think her as too audacious and move her death sentence up sooner. The entire plan could go horribly wrong, but she was willing to take that risk if it meant saving a few lives, including her own.

I suppose that was how everyone here felt about me. They'd been telling me to stay and let them help me since I'd arrived. They'd been willing to take multiple risks of it meant saving my life—and their own at this point, considering they were almost as far into this as I was. Eric clearly knew who I had grown close to by now.

I stood up and stretched my arms above my head, looking down at the shop below me. I was torn between leaving my spot to find Fred, and staying where I was so that I wouldn't miss Mystery Woman if she showed up. Even throughout reading the diary entry, I'd kept glancing up between sentences, just in case she walked in. But so far, nothing.

I finally made my way down to the shop's first floor, winding my way through the shop, my eyes scanning the crowd as I went, just in case I'd missed something while reading. The shop had a decent amount of people in it, but it was nothing compared to how it had been the week before school started, or even a few times over the summer.

Finally, I found George over by the Skiving Snackboxes, looking disgruntled. A mother was quickly ushering her son away from the display, and also the puddle of vomit on the floor.

"You were supposed to do it into the _cauldron_ ," the mother hissed to her son as they passed me. "There was a _sign_."

I raised an eyebrow as I closed the remaining distance between me and George. "Looks like someone had a little too much fun with the products," I commented.

George sighed and gestured to his right, where three candy dispensers stood lined up against the wall. They looked almost identical to the ones non-magical people used. Gumball machines. Except the coin slots of the machines here in the shop were designed to fit Knuts, Sickles and Galleons. And each machine was filled with a different Skiving Snackbox. At the end of the line of machines stood a cauldron with a sign hanging on the wall above: _Please vomit into the cauldron._

"They're _supposed_ to use the cauldron when they test the Puking Pastils," George said. "Or even the Nosebleed Nougats if the blood flow gets too heavy and it's dripping everywhere. But we also provide these for the nosebleeds." He pointed to a dispenser on the wall that looked like it was filled with washcloths or handkerchiefs that would soak up the blood.

"I can understand the frustration," I said. "But thank goodness for magic." I started to reach for my wand, but George stopped me.

"You don't have to," he said, shaking his head. "It's not your responsibility to clean up after customers." He pulled out his own wand and waved it, clearing up the mess instantly.

Just then, Fred appeared at my side. "Sophie's cleaned up enough vomit on our behalf." He nudged me and smiled before looking at George. "She's the one who had to clean up my vomit at the Leaky Cauldron the day Victoire was born and I skipped the hospital."

"My brother the charmer," George said to me, rolling his eyes. "You cleaned up his vomit before you'd even _met_ him, and then when you _did_ finally first meet him, didn't he step on your foot?"

I smiled and nodded as Fred looked sheepish for a moment.

"I apologized!" he said. " _And_ tried to make conversation. But Sophie wouldn't even make eye contact and she didn't even say a word."

"Kyle made fun of me for that, too," I said, leaning sideways against a shelf and crossing my arms. He said he would bet that I didn't even say anything, not even something like, _ouch, my foot_."

Fred and George both snorted with laughter. "He's right," Fred said. After a pause, he tilted his head towards the spot at the top of the stairs, where I'd been sitting earlier. "So...anything?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. I didn't see her. But I read another few entries from the diary. Elizabeth came up with an escape plan."

" _What_?" Fred asked eagerly. "What is it? Tell us!"

"Don't you want to read it for yourself?" I asked, holding out the diary towards him.

"Yes, we do," George said. "At least... _I_ do." He took the diary from me and gestured to the back room. "It's almost lunch time anyway. We can read this in the back."

"Tom and Martha also told us to come back at lunch time and they'd have some stuff ready for us," Fred told me. He smiled. "I think they were just really excited to see you."

I smiled back. "Do you want me to go grab it? You two can get started on reading."

Fred and George shared a look, worry flitting across their faces for a split second.

"What?" I asked. I crossed my arms and shot them a look. "You don't trust me to walk down the alley and back?"

"It's not that we don't trust _you_ ," George said. "Obviously."

"We just don't trust other people," Fred added.

I sighed. "Maybe this is our only shot. If Mystery Woman is watching...maybe she doesn't want to talk to me with a bunch of people around." I gestured around the shop.

Fred and George shared another look before Fred swallowed and pulled up his left sleeve. He reached for a thin piece of maroon and gold rope that encircled his wrist. In the middle of the rope bracelet was a shiny, circular object that looked like a coin.

"Is that a-"

"A Galleon?" Fred interrupted. "Yeah." He finished taking off the bracelet and looked up at me. "Hold out your wrist."

I did as he said and he began securing the bracelet around my own wrist. "I don't understand, Fred."

Fred finished with the bracelet and held onto my wrist with one hand, while tapping the Galleon with a finger of his other hand. "That's a fake Galleon."

"You wear a fake Galleon on a bracelet around your wrist?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Would you let me finish?" Fred chuckled. He shook his head before continuing. "We used them back at school when we formed the D.A."

I frowned in thought. "That secret defense group you told me about?"

Fred nodded. "Hermione came up with charming the fake Galleons to communicate about when the meetings were. Galleons are inconspicuous and Umbridge wouldn't have suspected anything about finding them in our pockets. It was a truly brilliant idea and took some advanced magic on Hermione's part. After the D.A. ended, a lot of us kept our coins on us anyway, and these coins were how Neville alerted us that Harry was back from being on the run and that we were fighting Voldemort. They're what brought all the members back to fight and how we were also able to spread the word of what was going on. They brought us all back together."

I didn't say anything for a moment. "That's great, Fred, but what does it have to do with me?"

"George and I charmed our own coins," Fred said, "and we both wear them around our wrists." He gestured to George who lifted up his own sleeve to reveal the exact same bracelet. "The colors are Gryffindor colors," Fred explained. "And we charmed the coins so that if one of us were to ever be in danger, the other's coin would heat up and then also reveal our location."

"And you talk about Hermione having brilliant ideas and using advanced magic," I said with a breath of laughter as I stared down at the bracelet. "Not that she isn't brilliant or isn't great at magic, but you two are quite amazing yourselves." I looked back up at Fred. "So you're telling me that if something happens to me, George's coin will heat up and tell you where I am?"

"Exactly," Fred said with a grin, dropping my hand from his. "We actually did the same for the rest of the family. Harry and Hermione, too. They, Ginny and Ron already had their own coins from the D.A., but we still thought it would be best for everyone else to have one, given what was going on. Mine and George's were the first we made, so they work as a pair. But then we got to thinking that it may be better to have them linked as threes in case _both_ people were in danger or a bracelet was lost or stolen. Ginny, Luna and Neville have connected ones, and so do Harry, Ron and Hermione. And then we connected Mum, Dad and Bill, but also connected Bill to Fleur and even Charlie over in Romania." He paused. "We would've sent one to Percy if we weren't so certain back then that he'd send it back or fling it in the trash. Not that it would've made a difference anyway. I knew exactly where he was when he was in danger." His eyes almost glazed over as if he were going back to that Hogwarts corridor once more.

"Hey," I said, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, shaking it slightly. He blinked and looked at me, snapping out of his trance. "These are incredible," I told him. "And they _do_ make a difference. Believe me. If anything, they're a sign of love. You simply _making them_ -directing your hard work into making them and handing them out-is a sign of love. And they allow you to be there for someone when they need you. They allow you to fight for them and that alone can mean the world to someone."

Fred studied me, his eyes searching my face before he swallowed thickly and nodded once and I knew he understood. He suddenly looked at me thoughtfully, a small smile hitching up the corner of his mouth. "With all that being said, and in light of recent events, maybe we should consider getting you one of your own."

I felt my cheeks heat up in a blush as I looked down at the ground. My heart almost felt like it could burst right out of my chest. There were still times-times like these-when I couldn't believe that someone cared about me that much. Cared enough to want to protect me and come after me to help if I were ever in danger. I was slowly getting used to it, but at certain moments, it almost overwhelmed me.

I finally looked up at Fred again, my eyes meeting his. "Thank you," I said.

"For what?" He looked at me in confusion, as if he genuinely didn't know what this meant to me. As if caring so much about someone he'd just met four months ago was second nature. Then again, it probably was.

"Thank you for caring so much," I said, reaching out and squeezing his hand.

Fred looked down at our hands before looking back up at me with a wry smile. "When are you going to stop thanking us so much for things you shouldn't have to thank us for?"

"Probably never," I confessed, smiling sheepishly and letting go of his hand. There was a pause before I tilted my head towards the diary. "Well, go on-get reading! I'll be back soon with food."

"My favorite sentence of all time," George said as he led the way towards the back. " _I'll be back soon with food_." He sighed dreamily and patted his stomach as I giggled.

Fred followed his brother, turning around once to look at me over his shoulder. "Be careful, will you?"

I nodded, and only then did he turn back around and disappear through the back room door.

I, on the other hand, turned and walked in the opposite direction, letting myself out of the shop with a jingle from the bell over the door. I took a right and headed down the cobblestone street towards the Leaky Cauldron.

It didn't feel like that long ago at all that I was walking this same path and had gotten the diary dropped in front of me. Truthfully, it _wasn't_ all that long ago. Only a few months-around four, actually, because I'd found the diary not long after I met Fred and George. But the day was still clear in my mind. How confused and scared I'd been, seeing the word _Salem_ written inside the front cover and feeling my blood run cold and my stomach drop. And yet, I was still here, in London, which may have been one of the biggest surprises of all.

I finally reached the Leaky Cauldron and let myself in the side entrance. The pub had more people sitting in it now than this morning, but it still wasn't overly packed. My eyes swept the large room quickly, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. It seemed like it was just mostly people who worked in Diagon Alley coming in on their lunch break. I recognized some of them. Madame Malkin, from the robe shop was reading _The Daily Prophet_ at a table near the window. Mr. Ollivander, who owned the wand shop was in a corner, looking exhausted and drinking a mug of tea. Martha had told me he'd been held hostage during the war and was lucky to have made it back relatively unscathed. He was still having a hard time now, though, and he was getting older. I'd heard he was training his nephew to possibly take over the wand shop.

There were also a few people I didn't recognize, which wasn't alarming. They were most likely either guests of the Leaky Cauldron or shoppers in Diagon Alley. There was a family of four over by a window, not far from Madame Malkin, and a man and a woman sat at a table across the room from me, talking in low voices. The woman's back was to me, but the man looked up and happened to meet my eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile before he went back to talking to the woman he was with. I hurriedly looked away, feeling a bit uncomfortable that he'd caught me looking at him from the doorway.

"Sophie!" Martha was suddenly hurrying towards me from the kitchen, a wide smile on her face. "I'm glad you're here!"

"Fred and George sent me to pick up lunch," I said, turning to face Martha as she came closer.

"It's almost ready. Come on back to the kitchen." She took my arm and led me towards the back, still beaming.

Kyle was still in the kitchen when I got there, this time cooking lunch items from the menu instead of breakfast.

"You're back!" he commented when he saw me.

"Just for a minute," I said, as Martha busied herself with finishing up with what I was guessing was the food I was supposed to bring back to the joke shop. While she was doing that, I leaned against the counter next to where Kyle was working. "So...how have things really been since I left?" I asked quietly.

"Honestly?" Kyle asked, glancing at me.

"Of course," I answered. "Why would I want anything _but_ an honest answer? And I know you'll give it to me. Rachel won't. She'll downplay everything and so will Tom and Martha."

"Kayla would give you a _brutally_ honest answer, you know," Kyle muttered, leaning over to look into the pot of soup on the stove that was magically stirring itself, while he worked on making a sandwich.

"I know, but I don't want a brutally honest answer. I just want honest."

"Is there a difference in this case?" he asked.

I shrugged. "You tell me."

Kyle sighed and stopped in preparing the sandwich. He rested his hands on the counter and stared down at it. "Rachel didn't come into work at all for a week after Noah was found. And when she finally did come in, it was like she didn't even care. She didn't even have a quarter of the personality she normally has. Kayla and Allie were working their shifts and then going to spend time with Rachel. They were upset themselves, and exhausted. We were all feeling the strain of losing two of our staff-three until Rachel came back. Kingsley came in to talk to us with that guy from the Magical Law Enforcement. They had talked to us all that night, but then they came back. They asked about when we last saw Noah and if he seemed odd." He paused. "The guy from the Ministry asked about you. How you were and where you came from and all that."

I swallowed, knowing exactly the reason he had done so. It was back when he was trying to figure out if I was a suspect or not. "Yeah? How did that go."

"We all basically told him to sod off. We told him you're quiet and mind your own business. We told him you'd recently moved to England from America purely for the sake of adventure and that you were big on seeing the world." He actually cracked a smile at that.

"You did not," I snorted.

Kyle shrugged. "It's pretty near true, isn't it? You do want to see the world. It was as close as we could get to the truth without giving the _whole_ truth."

"Thanks, Kyle," I said. And I meant it. Tom and Martha knew every detail of my story, the girls knew most of it and even Kyle knew bits and pieces of it. But they wouldn't even tell all the details to someone from the Ministry of Magic. Just because I'd asked them not to.

Kyle shrugged off my thanks and started going back to the sandwich.

"He suspected me, you know," I said. "Of killing Noah. I was the last person to see him alive."

Kyle nodded. "Yeah. Tom actually got a bit harsh with the guy. Told him you'd been through enough as it was and that he had a lot of nerve to jump to conclusions like that."

"I'm not sure he was jumping to conclusions," I said. "I mean, I had _nothing_ to do with what happened to Noah or his mother, but I think it is his job to consider every option. I did just kind of show up here. My story's kind of suspicious. I know that. Although, I _was_ horrified when he questioned me about it, too."

"I can imagine," Kyle said.

"Did he or Kingsley...say anything else about Noah's death?" I asked. I was curious about how much they knew. Did they know Noah's time of death had been _days_ before he turned up in the back alley? Had it been pointed out that we'd all seen him alive and well in the time between his death and his body being found?

"Not that I know of," Kyle said. "They talked to us, questioned us, and that was that."

I nodded. "So all in all, things haven't been that great."

Kyle shook his head. "Of course not. But the show must go on. We're trying to deal with it the best we can, just like you are."

"Things seem pretty _normal_ today though."

Kyle shrugged. "We've been slowly getting our momentum back. I think there's always going to be some kind of hole and there are moments-even days-when we can feel it more than others. But you're right. Today's been a good day. And it helps that you showed up. Worrying about you was just another thing on everyone's plates."

"I've been more than safe at the Burrow," I told him honestly. It was true. Never once while I was there did I feel like Eric or anyone else could reach me. Not only because of the protection charms, either, but because I knew the _people_ there would protect me.

"We know," Kyle said, aiming a smile my way. "But that doesn't mean we don't worry and it doesn't mean we don't miss you. Besides, you've been through a lot. We didn't even get to see or talk to you before you left. We wanted to know how you've been holding up."

"The same as you, I guess. Slowly getting my momentum back."

"The twins have been helping with that, eh?" Kyle asked with a smirk. "Fred in particular?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "They have been," I said slowly. "But so has their _whole family_. So stop looking at me like that."

"Hey, it's obvious you've become close," Kyle said. "And I think it's a good thing."

Before I could answer, Martha appeared with a large bag of food for me to take back to the joke shop. "Here you are, dear," she said with a smile, leaning in to give me a warm hug. My throat constricted slightly as she did so. I almost wanted to tell her not to let go.

"I've really missed you," I told her quietly.

She pulled away and smiled fondly at me, taking my face between her hands. "We've missed you too, dear. Very much. But don't worry. Soon this will be all over and you'll be back here soon enough."

"I hope so," I said. I cleared my throat and held up the bag of food. "Thanks so much for the food and I'll probably be seeing you later after Fred and George close the shop. We'll be coming back through in order to go back to the Burrow."

"I look forward to it," Martha said. "I'll let the girls know, too, so they can say goodbye."

I nodded before saying goodbye to Kyle and heading out of the kitchen towards the entrance to Diagon Alley. Martha walked me to the door and stood watching as I tapped the bricks with my wand.

"I'm really proud of you, you know," she said from behind me.

I turned in surprise as the bricks began moving and shifting to reveal the archway to Diagon Alley. "You're proud of me? Why?" I asked.

Martha shrugged and gave me a fond smile. "You've just come so far from the girl you were when you first got here. Even in light of all the recent events..." She shrugged again.

I looked at her with a tiny half smile on my face. "I think a lot of that is because of you. I wouldn't be where I am now if you and Tom hadn't taken me in and given me a job and a place to stay. You've been the first real family I've had in a long time and I truly am so grateful. I hope you know that."

Martha nodded and it actually looked as if she were trying not to cry. "We do, darling. Of course we do." She smiled and shooed me out towards the alley. "Now go on, Fred and George are probably wondering where you've gotten off to. Don't make them worry."

I smiled back and nodded as I gently touched the bracelet wrapped around my wrist, feeling that even if giving it to me for the time being had provided them some peace of mind, they'd still be watching the clock anyway.

"They're probably more concerned about the food," I told Martha.

"Normally I might agree, but now I'm actually not so sure," she answered. "They've taken quite a liking to you. And if you're having trouble believing me, look at all they've done for you. They wouldn't do that if they didn't care." She smiled at me again. "Now go on!"

I giggled and shook my head before turning and heading through the archway. As I walked, I looked down at my wrist again, pulling my sleeve up just slightly to reveal the shiny Galleon attached to that band of maroon and gold rope. That one fake Galleon had meant so much to Fred once-and still now. Being in the D.A. had been important to him, a way to feel like they were doing something to prepare themselves to fight in a war that had ended up taking one of his brothers anyway. And now he and George had the Galleons charmed so that they could stay safe and protect each other. And today, Fred had given his to me for the same reason. He wanted to keep me safe. He wanted to protect me. He _cared_ whether or not I lived or died, which was a sentiment I hadn't felt from someone in quite a while. _I_ had even stopped caring at some points. Or at least I thought I had. Maybe I'd just been tired of running.

I was nearly back at the joke shop when I felt someone brush past me. I looked up to see the flash of an emerald green cloak and dark hair pulled into a bun as the person pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. My heart nearly stopped. It was her. Mystery Lady.

I found myself standing there frozen for a moment before moving into action, almost on autopilot as I hurried after her. She kept moving forward and I trailed behind her as she disappeared into the alleyway between the ice cream shop and the Quidditch supply shop. I was almost expecting her to have disappeared or to see that she'd led me into a trap, but neither was true. She was just standing there waiting for me. I came to an abrupt halt in surprise.

"Are you following me?" I asked her bluntly. Wow, what a way to ease into this. "You're just standing here like you knew I would follow you. You bumped into me on purpose."

"Of course I knew you would follow me," the woman said calmly. "You've been looking for me just as much as I've been looking for you."

" _Why_?" I asked. "Why have you been looking for me? _Who_ are you?"

The woman sighed and I saw her calm expression break for a moment and worry appear on her face, but in an instant it was gone. "It's...complicated," she said. "But I _am_ trying to help you."

"You gave me that diary, didn't you?" I asked. "You purposely dropped it in front of me. And then you gave me that necklace knowing I'd read the diary and realize what it did. And then when I put it _on..._ "

"You did put it on, then?" she asked, a small smile appearing on her face.

"Yes," I said. "It made me _invisible_. And that diary said-it said-"

"I know what it said. And it's true."

"What, that I'm _related_ to Elizabeth Proctor?" I asked. "I mean, I figured. But how did _you_ know that?"

The woman rocked back and forth on her heels for a moment and began wringing her hands. "How far along are you in the diary?"

"Why should I answer your questions when you won't answer mine?"

"You already read about the secret room in Elizabeth's house?" The woman continued to wring her hands.

"Yes," I said impatiently. "Why does it matter?"

The woman swallowed and shook her head. "Look," she said, inhaling through her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them again and looked at me. "I know you don't recognize me, but I-I knew your family."

My mouth dropped open. How was that possible? I didn't remember _ever_ hearing about or meeting her. Although, it suddenly hit me that she did speak with an American accent. Not that it necessarily meant she was telling the truth about being from Salem and knowing my parents, though. For all I knew, she could even be faking. But that didn't stop me from asking, "You knew them? My mom and dad?"

She nodded.

"Do you know what happened to my mother, then?" I couldn't even stop the note of eagerness that appeared in my voice. It was surprising and almost a little embarrassing. I'd just gotten done thinking how this woman could still be trying to trick me and seconds later, I was practically begging her for information on my mother. My mother had _left_ me. All these years, I had told myself finding her didn't matter and that I could take care of myself. And that even if Fred and George helped me find out what _happened_ to her, it didn't mean I had to go talk to her-considering she was even still alive.

The woman hesitated. "I haven't seen her in years. But I do know that she _loved_ you."

"You can't possibly _know_ that!" I said, anger flaring up inside of me as my guard instantly went back up again. "Besides, you must have not known my family that well because I don't remember ever meeting you."

"You have to trust me," the woman pleaded, taking a step towards me. But I backed away from her.

"No, why should I?" I asked. "I don't know who you are, but I know you keep following me and watching me and you keep slipping me items from my past that leads me to information that I never knew about and don't even _want_. It has to end! I'm already going through way too much without you giving me a family history lesson. So _please_ , just leave me alone."

I turned and started walking back towards the end of the alleyway, my hands and my lower lip trembling.

"Your mother didn't have a choice," the woman blurted.

I stopped short, but didn't turn to face her.

"She didn't have any other choice but to leave you. She was trying to protect you."

"Well for one," I said, slowly turning around, "she didn't do a very good job. I had a pretty miserable childhood anyway. Secondly, protect me from what? And thirdly, how could you possibly _know_ what she was trying to do? _I_ don't even know and I'm her own daughter!"

The woman stared at me pleadingly again. She almost looked as if she _wanted_ to tell me the answers to all of my questions, but something was holding her back. She rocked back and forth again slightly and opened her mouth before closing it. Finally, she spoke again. "That man," she whispered. "You have to stop him. If you stop him-I can-if you, well-" She broke off and buried her face in her hands as she took a deep breath.

"You mean Eric?" I asked, taking a step closer to her. How did she know about him? We had considered the fact that she'd been working with him, but if she were, she wouldn't be telling me to stop him. "We're trying, but there may not be any other way to stop him besides-"

"Killing him?" The woman looked up at me. She swallowed. "Sometimes I think he deserves it." She hesitated again. "I know what he's done to you. I know he found you here once and I know what he's done to your back."

I backed up from her again, until I hit the wall of the alley. My eyes widened. "How?" I breathed.

She shook her head. "I can't tell you. He'll hurt me, too..."

"You've met him, then?" I asked. "Did he threaten you for wanting to help me?"

"Something like that," she said.

"Don't you have magic?" I asked curiously. "He doesn't..."

She shrugged. "You know how he is more than anyone, don't you?"

I did. That was true. I had magic as well and I knew how long he'd managed to keep me as essentially a prisoner back in Salem until I _finally_ managed to escape. But I still wasn't free. He was here. Threatening me, most likely killing people I cared about, and threatening this strange woman, who I was beginning to believe might truly be here to help me, as odd as she was.

I reached up and rubbed my forehead. "None of this makes sense."

"You need to handle the real threat here," the woman said. "Eric. Handle him and then you and I can talk and I promise I will tell you everything you want to know. Everything I've given you so far was to help you figure out what it is he has against you and why he's treated you the way he has."

"You mean there's a _reason_? Besides the fact that he's an asshole?"

The woman chuckled slightly. "Sadly, there is a reason."

I thought that over for a moment. "Is it because I'm related to Elizabeth?" I asked. "I can't see why it would matter to him or how he would even _know_."

The woman smiled. "You'll figure it out."

"Why can't you just _tell_ me?" I asked. "That would save so much more time and we could take him down sooner instead of waiting for him to kill someone else, because I _know_ he killed Noah and his mother."

She shook her head. "Do you _want_ him to get suspicious?"

I sighed and looked away in frustration. "For someone who's trying to help me..." I began.

The woman's shoulder's slumped. "I know, but I'm doing all that I can under the circumstances. Like I said, once this is all over, I'll tell you anything and everything you want to know. And believe me-I do care about you. I've always tried to look out for you. How else would I have had that postcard you threw away all those years ago?"

I turned back to her again. "So-you've been _following me_ and-and _watching me_ since I was a _child_. You, what, dug the remains of a ripped up postcard from the trash, put them back together and carried it around with you? Why? I don't even know you! I can't understand why you'd seem to care _so_ much, but never come forward. Looking out for me is all fine and good, but what about all those times I _needed_ someone? When I cried myself to sleep night after night, wondering where my mother was and why she didn't love me anymore? That's why I ripped that damn postcard up anyway!"

The woman flinched. "I know," she whispered. "And I promise...soon you'll know _everything_."

"Yeah, yeah," I said dismissively, turning to leave. "I've got to get back to the twins. They're waiting for their lunch and it's getting cold."

And with that, I turned and headed back towards the main alley, glancing back over my shoulder once to see that the woman was gone. I snorted. Figured.

I reached the end of the side alley and started to step out from between the buildings when a man stepped in front of me. He had been leaning against the front of the ice cream shop, just around the corner from where I was and I almost bumped into him.

"Sorry,"I muttered. I tried to step around him, but he stepped to the side and blocked me.

I looked up into his menacing face and gulped as he started to walk forward, forcing me to step backwards into the alley where I'd just been. I saw a glint of metal and looked down. A knife was grasped firmly in his hand.

"Hand over your money," he ordered.

My heart pounded in my chest as my legs started to shake. I was still walking backwards, but I feared that soon my legs wouldn't even support me and I'd end up on the ground. Not that it mattered much anyway-even if I managed to keep walking, I'd hit the back wall of the alley shortly anyway.

"I-I don't have any," I told him. It was the truth. Fred and George had paid Tom and Martha that morning for the food we'd be picking up for lunch and I'd left all my money safely tucked away at the Burrow.

The man clucked his tongue in disappointment. "Well, isn't that just. Too. Bad." He sneered down at me as I finally collided with the back wall of the alley. He held up the knife and rested the blade against my cheek. I whimpered, wishing I even had a Sickle to give him. Anything to get him away from me. All I had was the fake Galleon on Fred's bracelet, but I'd let this guy kill me before I turned that over to him. I was actually so overly aware of it against my wrist, that it almost felt as if it were heating up.

Hold on-the Galleon! It was supposed to alert Fred and George as to when I was in danger and it was working! At least, on my end it was. If it worked completely, which I was sure it did, George's would be heating up now as well and letting him know where I was. I only hoped he and Fred would make it on time.

In the meantime, I tried to steady my rapid breathing and keep the tears in my eyes from spilling down my cheeks as the man lightly and slowly slid the knife from my cheek to my neck. I couldn't even reach my wand. It was in the waistband of my jeans and covered by my sweater. In the time I managed to get it out, this man would have time to kill me twice.

"I wonder," he said, his voice low, "since you don't have any money, of course, how much I could sell your organs for in Knockturn Alley." He chuckled menacingly. "I hear hearts are going for a lot these days." He slid the tip of the blade from my neck to my collarbone, then down my side to my ribcage. I whimpered again.

"Let me go," I cried. "Please."

"Perhaps next time, you shouldn't wander alone into alleyways," he said, putting some pressure onto the knife. Not much, but enough for it to hurt slightly. I flinched before attempting to take a swing at him with the bag of food from Martha, but at the same time, the man simultaneously swung his arm with the knife back and began to swing, aiming straight for my neck. I screamed.

"Stupefy!"

Two jets of red light shot towards us, missing the man with the knife and colliding with the wall above my head, one a split second before the other. I screamed again and barely registered the sounds of rapid footsteps. The man was distracted just enough for me to wriggle away from him and a second after that, another body-a tall one, complete with red hair-was colliding with the man, knocking him to the ground. The knife fell out of the man's hand and a second person-George, I realized-kicked it out of reach before turning to me.

"You alright?" he asked, looking me over.

I nodded, but there wasn't much time to say anything else because Fred was still fighting with the man on the ground, engaged in a physical fistfight, despite Fred's wand. But finally, Fred managed to pin the man under him and hold his wand at the man's throat. Fred's lip was split and his right eye was already swelling, which made him look even scarier as he looked down at the man with a menacing expression.

"Are you going to kill me?" the man asked tantalizingly as he chuckled almost madly.

Fred actually hesitated. "No," he finally said. "I want to for what you tried to pull just now. But instead, my brother and I will hand you over to the Ministry." He backed off the man and pulled him to his feet, still pointing his wand at him as George moved to stand in front of me protectively. But I still noticed the man's hand twitch towards his pocket.

Apparently, George noticed the same thing. "Fred," he began quickly. "He's got another weapon in his-"

Before George could even finish the sentence, several things all happened at the same time. Fred began to shoot another Stunning spell at the man, who ducked at the same time, wrenched himself out of Fred's one handed grip and reached into his pocket. He pulled out some small object that he immediately held in front of him and sprayed at Fred's face. Fred yelled in pain and dropped his wand as his hands went to his eyes. It was Muggle pepper spray.

"Fred!" George cried, rushing to his brother's side as I backed up against the wall again, sliding down it until I was huddled on the floor as the man dove forward, grabbed his knife and rounded on both twins. But this time, I had time to grab my wand. I shot a curse directly at the man's face-one that mimicked the effects of pepper spray. It made contact and he yowled, covering his face and staggering backwards. I shot a Stunning spell at him next and hit him, blasting him into the wall across from me before he fell to the ground in a heap.

Breathing heavily, I scrambled to my feet and hurried to kneel beside Fred, whose eyes were now red, watery and swollen from the pepper spray, not to mention the right one was already swollen from being punched.

"Oh, Fred," I sighed, taking him in. My chest ached just looking at him.

"Take him inside," George murmured to me. "Through the back so you won't have to go through the shop. Take him upstairs and start fixing him up. I'll alert the Ministry and get them out here to take care of him." He jerked his head towards the man lying motionless on the other side of the alley.

"No," Fred insisted. "You are _not_ staying out here alone with him."

"He's unconscious," George said. "Besides, the Ministry will get here quickly. But you need to be tended to even sooner than that. I hate to break it to you, but you're even uglier than usual."

Fred let out a sharp breath of laughter before groaning. "Merlin, it _burns_."

"It's pepper spray," I said.

"We know," Fred said bitterly. "We almost decided to sell it in the shop, but decided against it when we realized it wasn't exactly a _funny_ Muggle item."

"It can be useful depending on who you use it on," I said. "For example, if _we_ had used it on _him_." I looked towards the man behind me and sighed. "I think Fred's right though, George. This guy was quick. Let's go inside and you can alert the Ministry from there. I don't like you being out here alone with him, either."

"But-"

"It's two against one, Georgie," Fred said. "Come on, I don't feel like having to tell Mum that you went ahead and got your other ear chopped off."

George heaved a heavy sigh before reluctantly agreeing. The two of us helped Fred to his feet and then George slung Fred's arm around his shoulder and helped guide him to the back entrance. It led straight to the back room, where we guided Fred up the stairs and into the flat.

"Okay, I'm going back down to the shop," George said as he lowered Fred to the couch. "Is that good enough for you two? I'll alert the Ministry and meet them when they arrive. I'll warn Verity and calm down customers who may end up seeing Ministry officials poking around a few doors down. Besides, the Ministry will have questions anyway. I'll answer what I can, but they'll also want to talk to you both."

Fred and I nodded as my stomach twisted unpleasantly. Just what I wanted. Talking to Ministry officials again about yet another attack that I'd not only witnessed, but been involved in.

George looked at me, his expression softening from the determined, all-business one he'd been wearing previously. "Take care of him," he said.

I nodded again. "Of course," I whispered. As if I'd ever even _think_ about doing anything less.

"I am going to be okay, George," Fred said, stretching out on the couch and squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm not dying."

George scoffed before heading for the door. He turned and gave us one last look before he left, meeting my eyes and mouthing _thank you._ I gave him a tiny smile in return, and then he was gone, leaving the flat eerily silent.

I turned back to Fred, who was in exactly the same position as he had been a moment ago, stretched out, taking up the entire couch with his long limbs, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Merlin, would you believe this stuff is _still_ burning my eyes?" he asked.

I jumped up immediately, realizing I needed to get to work on repairing the damage done to his face. "Of course it's still burning," I said. "It's pepper spray." I gingerly sat down on the very edge of the couch next to Fred's chest and studied his face as I pulled out my wand, waving it over his face. The redness and swelling around his eyes from both the pepper spray and the punch to the face deteriorated almost completely. "Better?" I asked.

Fred sighed and opened his eyes. "Loads. Thank you."

"It's not perfect," I said. "Still a little red. But at least the pain is gone."

Fred didn't say anything, so I turned my attention to his cut lip, which was also swollen.

"Is there something wrong with my lip or do you just _really_ want to kiss me?" Fred asked, lazily tucking his right arm up behind his head as he smirked at me.

I felt my face instantly heat up as I looked away.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Fred went on. "You wouldn't be the first girl who's desperately wanted to."

"Do you _enjoy_ making me uncomfortable?" I whispered, keeping my eyes downcast and studying my hands.

"Of course," Fred chuckled. "I wouldn't be me if I didn't like making people squirm on a regular basis."

"Do you have any cleaning potion for that?" I asked.

"Bathroom cabinet," Fred said quietly. "There are washcloths in the hall closet as well. Bowls are in the kitchen, obviously."

I stood up wordlessly and made my way out of the room, finding each object where Fred had said they'd be. I poured the cleaning potion into the bowl and carried it back to the living room, resuming my seat on the edge of the couch. I set the bowl down on the coffee table and dipped the cloth into it before turning back to Fred.

"Go on," he said quietly. "I don't bite."

Slowly, I reached out with my free hand and placed it on his jaw to steady his face before using my other hand to dab at his lip. He winced, but didn't move other than that.

"Fred, I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't mention it, it just stings a bit."

"No, I meant I'm sorry for getting you into this mess."

"Don't apologize," he said. "I gave you that bracelet for a reason. Even if it turned out you needed saving from a fluke _robbery_ instead of the Mystery Woman or-or Eric, well, it doesn't matter. George and I ran to help you in a heartbeat."

I set down the cloth and reached for my wand again, waving it over Fred's lip and healing the cut. "Thank you. For saving my life," I whispered.

Fred smiled. "Thank _you_ for saving _mine_. And for healing my injuries."

I smiled down at him and nodded before I suddenly realized my hand was still lightly resting on his jaw and I pulled it away quickly as Fred smirked at me.

"By the way," I said, turning back to the bowl of cleaning potion and standing to bring it back to the kitchen, "I did see the Mystery Woman. That's how I ended up in that alley in the first place."

"What?" Fred asked, his eyes going wide as he pushed himself to a sitting position. He turned his head as I walked past him, his eyes following me. As I left the room, he stood up and followed me. "You saw her? Did you _talk_ to her?"

"I did," I said, setting the bowl of cleaning potion in the sink. I turned to Fred with the damp cloth still in my hand. "Do you have a laundry basket or something for this?"

"I'll take it," Fred said, reaching out and taking the cloth from me. "But go on, tell me what happened with the Mystery Woman! She obviously didn't try anything or else the bracelet would've heated up sooner..."

"Can't I tell you and George at once?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

Fred considered that for a moment. "Yeah, I suppose you'd better. Although, I don't know how I'm going to wait that long."

"You're going to have to," I said with a laugh.

Just then, the door to the flat opened and George burst in. "Fred? Sophie?" he called.

"In here," Fred called back, his eyes still on my face.

George appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Magical Law Enforcement's here," he said. "They'll be up in a few minutes to talk to us."

"Are they throwing that dirty rotten thief into a cell in Azkaban or what?" Fred asked.

"That's the thing," George said slowly. "He escaped."

"What?" Fred yelped.

"You mean he's just-gone?" I asked, my own face turning pale.

George nodded. "By the time the Ministry got here, he was gone. I'm so sorry."

"Damnit," Fred said, aiming a kick at a kitchen counter.

"I knew we should've kept watch on him," George sighed. "We can't afford to be sloppy about things like this."

"I wasn't about to let him attack you too!" Fred cried. "There's no way. Especially if I was already in a pretty bad state to begin with. I wouldn't be at my best to help you, and I can't-I can't-"

George's expression softened and he put a hand on Fred's shoulder. "I know," he said.

Just then, there was a knock on the door to the flat. George glanced over his shoulder. "That's them. The people from the Ministry. They're here to talk to us." He glanced between me and Fred. "You ready?"

Fred and I looked at each other before nodding. "Go let them in," I sighed.


End file.
